


The Leviathan

by thescepteredisle



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Body Horror, Body Swap, Canon divergent to better explain canon, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Cleaning up a video game mess and making it feasible, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, F/M, First Kiss, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Genderfluid Character, Gore, Juicy plot twists, M/M, Mutual Pining, Non-binary character, Other, Panic Attacks, Persian SoSu, Pickman Gallery descriptions, Prequel, Secret Identities, Slow Burn, Starts a few weeks before SoSu leaves the vault, alcohol use, canon compliant when possible
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:34:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 59
Words: 147,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27766069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescepteredisle/pseuds/thescepteredisle
Summary: Fallout 4 gives The Institute a pretty half-assed ideology. I don’t think Institute scientists spring out of bed every day, eager to produce more creepy things in their creepy things factory. What actually drives the people living below ground, and why do certain people above ground act as informants for The Institute? I refuse to believe Father released the Sole Survivor for “funsies” and with no Institute guidance and manipulation. How was The Institute involved behind the scenes, and how would that affect the Sole Survivor’s path? In trying to come up with answers, I ended up asking another question: after sixty years of third gens, why hadn’t The Institute come up with a fourth-generation synth? This prompted the creation of my original character, Hob, and the necessity of starting a few weeks before SoSu leaves the vault.This work is also trying to fix the countless Bethesda “yeah-that’s-good-enough” throwaway explanations for dialogue, terminal entries, chronology, etc. I felt like Dr. Frankenstein trying to resurrect various Fallout 4 body parts into a living, breathing creature. But despite my criticism, make no mistake – I love the crap out of this game.
Relationships: Cait/Deacon (Fallout), Deacon & Female Sole Survivor, Female Sole Survivor & Nick Valentine, Female Sole Survivor & Original Character(s), Female Sole Survivor & Piper Wright, John Hancock & Female Sole Survivor, Robert Joseph MacCready & Female Sole Survivor
Comments: 7
Kudos: 11





	1. Awakening

Bright lights. Blinding lights.

“Hello there. My name is Shaun.”

A synthetic form sat up rigidly from the table. It tilted its head to the side, eyes scanning back and forth rapidly. After a moment, its program finished installing and it looked at Shaun, focusing on the man’s face.

He continued, “I am also known as Father. I am your creator. Your designation is J9-39.”

The synth nodded and repeated in a mechanical voice, “I am J9-39.”

Shaun paused, searching for consciousness in the synth’s yellow eyes. He saw nothing human there and breathed a small sigh of relief. “But for the sake of informality we can also give you a name. Would that please you?”

The apertures of the synth’s eyes widened and contracted rapidly. “Hob,” it stated simply.

Father frowned in confusion at The Institute roboticist standing next to him. “Why ‘Hob’? What does that mean?"

The synth paused, thinking. “I do not know, Father. Have I disappointed you? I can choose another name if that would please you,” replied Hob, echoing Father’s question.

Shaun’s eyes crinkled in amusement. “No, if you like ‘Hob’ then Hob it is. Perhaps in due time we will determine why you chose that. For now, would you please stand and follow me?”

Hob stood silently and followed Father out of the Robotics lab. It stared at the wrinkles on the back of Shaun’s neck and studied his olive skin. It held out its gray hands and observed that its fingers had no nails. It then touched the back of its neck and found only smooth polymer. “Father, I have no lines.”

Shaun turned around and saw the synth’s hand moving back and forth over the area where its head and torso met. “We created you to be a physically neutral synth. This allows for maximum flexibility in how we put you to use.”

Hob glanced at an Institute resident passing them in the hallway. “We?”

Shaun gestured at the gleaming structures around him. “We are The Institute. The last hope for humanity.”

Hob suspected Father was going to keep talking, so it did not interrupt.

“Hob, you’ll soon find that humans are merely matter in motion. They are weak-minded material beings that have endless appetites and desires, which almost always conflict with what others want. The Institute created synths in an effort to minimize this conflict. An all-human society will always culminate in warfare. However, a society comprised of both synths and humans has a real chance at a peaceful existence. To be sure, as time passes you will find yourself wanting things, much like a human would. It is inevitable since humans designed and created you. But because your core mission is to help us, you will always bow to our desires and orders. By assisting humans, you will reduce conflict, which will bring about harmony. You are quite the accomplishment, if I do say so myself.” Shaun chuckled haughtily. 

“I am inferior to humans.”

Father stopped abruptly and faced Hob. “In many ways you are a synth designed to be superior to humans. You will not face the same physical limitations we do. But you still have some hurdles to overcome. Especially once we send you to the surface.” Hob opened its mouth to speak but Father interrupted. “We have a very important job for you to do but you need debriefing first. Let me introduce you to some of my colleagues and perhaps they can answer your questions.”

The pair arrived at the board room. The advisory council known as the Directorate was already seated around the conference table.

“Everyone, this is J9-39, who will also be known as Hob.” Shaun turned to the synth, “Hob, these are the division heads. Clayton Holdren runs BioScience, Allie Filmore is in charge of Facilities, and Madison Li heads up Advanced Systems. Justin Ayo is handling Synth Retention while Dr. Zimmer is away, though by now we do not believe he will be returning. I directly oversee Robotics along with Alan Binet.”

Hob looked at each human with its electronic yellow eyes. It smiled and waved its hand for just a beat too long, unaware of the pacing of these types of human interactions. Oblivious to this, for the first time in its life, it experienced joy.

“Hob here has many questions about the path ahead. You may answer these questions with as much candor as you prefer,” said Father, tilting his head slightly while watching Hob’s social interaction. Justin shifted uncomfortably in his chair, throwing Father a quick look. 

The synth spoke immediately. “There are others like me? Where are they?” it asked, almost breathlessly.

Clayton replied, “Well that’s a tricky question. There are many synths down here, but they’re divided into different generations. First-gen synths are essentially robots. Allie and Madison rely on them a lot for The Institute’s facilities maintenance, sanitation, water treatment, that kind of thing. After a transition period with the second gens, with only two noticeable hiccups, we developed third-gen synths. They’re properly defined as androids – very human-like in appearance both inside and out, and quite the feat of genetic engineering.”

Justin interjected, “Robotics went a bit overboard with the third gens. Because they are human replicants they can,” he paused, searching for the right words, “behave in unpredictable ways. The emotional part of their personality matrix is firmly linked to their physical appearance. Looking human makes them think they’re human. But make no mistake, they’re synthetic organic beings.”

Alan scoffed at this offense. “We’ve made a lot of progress in that area. J9-39 was the key to working through those problems.” He turned to the synth, “J9, excuse me, I mean Hob – you are totally unique. You’re the first viable fourth-generation synth. Right now you might feel like a blank slate, but you’ve got tremendous capacity for emotional learning, in accordance with your personality programming of course. But here’s the kicker – we can change your outer appearance to suit different needs of The Institute. That’s why you’re in that smaller second-gen frame. Because you’ll never get attached to your physical form, you’ll never experience the emotional weakness of the third gens. You are superior to all other synths in The Institute.” 

Hob was, in fact, no longer an emotional blank slate. It had grown exponentially over the last few minutes. It frowned as it now experienced confusion, sadness, and mild distress. It turned to Father and declared, “There are no others like me. I am alone.”

“You are the progenitor of a new generation of synths,” Father corrected. “And we are excited to see what you are capable of.”

Hob’s eyes widened. “You depend on me,” it said, now feeling pride and anticipation. It looked at The Institute scientists staring at it, “I do not want to disappoint you.”

“Hob, you won’t,” said Shaun firmly.


	2. The Vesture Room

In the BioScience division, Clayton Holdren unlocked a side door and gestured Father, Hob, and Alan Binet into a large circular room that functioned as a giant closet. Off to the right was a dresser and a floor-length mirror. The rest of the room was lined with wide hangers bearing skin suits in varying shapes and colors. 

Hob poked the nearest one. “How curious. What are these, Father?” it asked, jiggling the suit with its fingertip.

“This is a unique invention called a vesture. It is a ballistic gel suit modeled after the human body. Vestures are based on various surface dwellers we have, ah, encountered over the years. By wearing one over your synth body you will be able to blend in up above.”

“Up above,” murmured Hob while playing with the vesture’s stringy blond hair.

“Can you try one on?” asked Clayton excitedly. “We’ve worked on these for a while now and it’s finally time to see how they look in person.”

“Of course, Clayton Holdren. That will help you.” Hob pulled the blond-hair vesture from its hanger and held it out, admiring the freckles and little scars that dotted the skin suit.

“Oh wait, let’s make some adjustments to your hydraulic servos first,” said Clayton. “This little lady is a smidgen shorter than you are.” He fiddled with Hob’s knee and elbow joints.

“Just step into the vesture, and we will secure it for you,” said Father.

Hob stepped into the foot holes and began pulling the suit up like a pair of pants. Clayton and Alan pointed modified stimpak lasers at the seams. The vesture began stitching itself together.

Father stood in front of Hob, surveying the vesture. Instead of yellow eyes, clear gray ones peered back at him. He touched her shoulders gently and turned her around to face the mirror on the wall.

Hob looked at her reflection. Her pale face was young but looked tired. She reached up and touched the greasy tip of her nose, then tugged on an earlobe. “Squishy,” she remarked in her new, young, female voice.

Alan laughed, “You’re not wrong.”

“Come on, give us a spin. How does it feel?” asked Clayton.

“It feels…warm and wet. Are humans always warm and wet?”

“I suppose they are, most of the time,” answered Father. “Now we’ll show you how to get dressed and then you and I will go see Justin. He’ll explain the first task you will complete.”

Fifteen awkward minutes later, Hob and Father emerged from the BioScience side room. Hob fiddled with the buttons on her flannel shirt and kept pulling her baggy jeans up.

In the Synth Retention Bureau, Justin Ayo stood looking at a wall of screens.

“Justin, are you ready to explain the mission to Hob?” asked Father.

Justin sighed and turned around. He raised an eyebrow at Hob’s new appearance but chose not to say anything. He had an unflappable reputation to maintain, after all. The coursers respected him more that way. “The SRB maintains a number of informants on the surface. Many of them are traders on caravan routes. Our synth scavenger teams provide them with trade goods in exchange for information.”

Hob blinked but did not say anything. She had no opinion on the existence of trader informants.

“So,” he continued, “for your first mission you will travel with a trader known as Trashcan Carla. She does not need a caravan guard – thanks to a couple cybernetic upgrades from us – but you will be posing as her caravan hand. You will stay with her on her route and get a feel for what the surface is like. Any questions?”

“How do I know who my contact is? This Trashcan person?”

“Carla is,” Justin paused, “a kind of grubby-looking woman. She has bloodshot eyes and a crotchety demeanor. When you meet her she’ll ask if you had any trouble getting there. Use the code phrase ‘bloodbugs chased me halfway across the Commonwealth’ so she knows you’re our agent.”

“Understood. What information am I to acquire, and what is the ultimate application for this information?”

Father interjected, waving a hand. “For now you’re mostly trying to learn the habits of the surface dwellers. Understand the appetites and desires that motivate them, and try to figure out your place in a world of conflicting human wants. As for a greater purpose, we will tell you eventually, but not right now. We don’t want to skew your initial observations.”

“Okay. How long will I be up above?”

“A couple days,” said Justin. “We will be able to monitor your progress from here on these screens. Clayton developed synthetic crows, called ‘watchers’, which stream audio and video down here to the SRB. When we’re ready for you to return we’ll send a courser to retrieve you, most likely X6-88.” He gestured carelessly at the stony-faced courser standing behind him.

“Hello, X6-88,” smiled Hob. She was not offended by his silent rebuff of her decorum. “Father, you stated previously that humans’ conflicting desires inevitably lead to war. Will I encounter war?”

“The surface is a very violent place,” said Father. “The humans up above are constantly at war. Because you look like a human, you will doubtless get drawn into conflict. Once we’re finished here, we’ll go to Advanced Systems for some rudimentary weapons training.”

Hob’s eyes widened. “I don’t want to kill anything, especially not a human,” she whispered in horror. 

“Only if necessary, and you will see why soon enough,” said Father, trying to reassure her. “Let’s head over to A.S. where a very excited young lady is waiting to show you her newest laser rifle.”

In the Advanced Systems division, Rosalind Orman beamed and bounced around, showing Hob various parts of the incendiary laser rifle. “And see, this modification to the fusion cells creates higher than usual temperatures inside the rifle. When the laser beam hits your target, it should catch fire immediately. Sometimes the nearby targets ignite as well. It works 39.3% of the time. I also upgraded the rifle’s focusing mechanism.” 

“So much destruction. It runs contrary to the preservation of life. I vow to use this weapon as seldom as possible,” said Hob determinedly, holding the rifle to her chest.

A quiet, derisive snort caused both Hob and Father to turn around.

“Would you like to add something, Madison?” asked Father sternly.

Madison Li put her hand on her hip. “Humans on the surface are unforgiving. They would eat a new kid like Hob for breakfast. You can be as high-minded as you want, but you’ll get dragged down to their level, and sooner than you think.”

“We will see how Hob handles things up there. You might be surprised,” said Father. “But I believe she will come through with flying colors. I have faith in Alan’s programming.”

Madison bit back another comment and returned to her terminal. 

Father touched Hob’s shoulder. “All right Hob, I think you’re ready. Grab your weapon. We need to stop by the requisition synth to get you a bag, fusion cells, and some caps. Those are the form of currency used on the surface in case you need to purchase anything. After that we’ll head to the molecular relay and send you on your way.”


	3. The Drumlin Diner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: description of drug use/drug addiction

Bright blue lights. Blinding sunlight.

Hob squeezed her eyes shut. This was too much stimulation. Already too much. What if she encountered something that wanted to harm her? What if that something was a person? 

She cautiously opened her gray human eyes.

“Is this the surface?” she wondered. Dead trees. Rusted cars. A few bits of wire fence. A large sign for the Drumlin Diner: Open 24/7. “Is that the designated meeting point?” she thought. “Father didn’t say. But it looks like a promising place to start.”

Hob began walking in the direction of the diner. She heard angry voices and hid behind a large tree, cautiously peeking her head around the trunk.

“We had a deal Trudy! Hand over the goods. You owe us!” said an angry man’s voice.

“I ain’t giving you poison-shilling chem pushers anything! Do you know what that junk has done to my boy?” retorted a female voice from inside the building.

Hob silently walked up behind the chem pushers. “Pardon me,” she asked, causing them to jump, “but are you Trashcan Carla?”

The angry man scowled at the black woman at his side, who was doubled over laughing. “Hey shut up Simone. This bitch really thinks I’m a lady?”

“Well to be fair Wolfgang you can barely grow a mustache,” responded Simone. “Look at that nasty patchy little thing.” She pointed at it, overcome with giggles.

“Bitch?” asked Hob. She frowned at the chem dealers. She hadn’t heard this word, but it didn’t seem very polite. “Forgive me. I was actually talking to her,” she apologized, nodding in Trudy’s direction. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your…conversation.”

“Carla will be along on her route shortly,” said Trudy. “In the meantime, help me talk some sense into these animals. Wolfgang over there intentionally got my son Patrick hooked on Jet, and now he’s here to collect caps that he shouldn’t be entitled to in the first place.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault your dumbass son bit off more than he can chew. But if he can’t pay us back for the chems, then you’re responsible for paying us, whether it’s caps or something else entirely,” shouted Wolfgang. 

It never occurred to Hob to not get involved. “Is Patrick here? May I speak with him?” asked Hob.

“He’s cowering in there behind his mommy’s skirts,” laughed Simone.

Hob walked into the diner and saw Patrick sitting on the floor, cradling his knees. “Patrick, are okay? How do you feel?” asked Hob, touching his shoulder gently.

“I hate it. I hate all this,” he sobbed, rocking back and forth.

“What do you hate?”

“Life in this apocalypse. I wake up and wonder if today will be the day I die. Every day there’s the threat of radstorms, raiders, radroaches, bloodbugs, ferals, and countless other forms of nightmare fuel. But Jet helps me float above all this bullshit.” Patrick sighed and wiped away his tears. “Time slows until the problems seem frozen. One breath is a carefree moment of bliss. But it doesn’t last. So I inhale again. And that next hit never satisfies the way the first one did. So I take another breath, and another, until my canister of Jet is empty and all I can think about is getting more. But I can’t afford it. The worst part is having to live knowing full well how great I could be feeling. Then I obsess over what I’m missing out on. Addiction sucks,” he finished, wiping the snot off his nose with the sleeve of his letterman-style jacket. 

Hob bit her lip. She didn’t want this boy to live in pain, and she also didn’t want his mother to live in fear of violent retaliation. Hob stood up and looked out the diner window at the two chem dealers, conflict rising within her. Didn’t they deserve to make a living as well? Two humans against two humans. There was no clear answer. She tapped her finger against her leg, thinking for a moment.

Hob walked back out to where Wolfgang and Simone were loitering. “Did you sell Jet to this boy knowing full well he would become addicted?”

Wolfgang shrugged his shoulders and made a noncommittal noise. 

“Do you carry any medicine that could help ease this addiction?”

Simone elbowed Wolfgang in the ribs before he could speak. “We have a canister of Addictol. The price is 300 caps, non-negotiable,” she said firmly.

Hob dug into her pack and pulled out a pouch. She handed Wolfgang the entire amount of caps she was sent to the surface with, and in exchange took the Addictol from Simone. “Here, this is 325 caps. The extra 25 are to request that you refrain from harassing these people. They don’t deserve it. The boy doesn’t need any more Jet. It is cruel to remind him of a world he can’t have. Besides, it is illogical to keep selling your product to someone who can’t pay, since you are certain to lose. With our single transaction you come out ahead.”

“I guess so,” said Wolfgang slowly. He was frowning, trying to do math in his head.

“It’s in everyone’s best interests if you find somewhere else to peddle your wares. Trudy and Patrick will be happier, and you have the chance of finding adult customers who can actually pay, which I assume will make you happy as well. Everyone wins.” 

“She’s got you there,” laughed Trudy from inside the diner.

“It’s time for you to move on.” Hob smiled sweetly and waved goodbye to Wolfgang and Simone, ushering them away from the diner. 

***

At the SRB wall of screens, Father and the division heads watched Hob’s interactions. 

“Son of a bitch,” whispered Madison. “How did it pull that off? I thought for sure it was a goner.”

“Isn’t she something!” declared Clayton proudly, clapping Alan’s shoulder enthusiastically. “That’s a helluva programming achievement!”

“I don’t trust that thing,” muttered Justin as he walked off.

Father smiled at the screen, but his smile did not reach his eyes.


	4. Slim

“You got big balls, kid,” said Trudy as she watched the two chem dealers heading down the road to Lexington.

“Balls?” asked Hob.

“You know, gumption? Audacity? You didn’t seem at all scared that they would blast a hole through your forehead,” said Trudy matter-of-factly.

“Thank you for complimenting my balls,” replied Hob politely.

“Want a beer? It’s on the house.”

Hob paused, unsure. “No thank you, I’m not, uh, thirsty right now.” Since food and drink were completely unnecessary for her, she never bothered to ask Father if the vesture was capable of consuming anything. 

“So you’re waiting on Carla?”

“Yes I will be traveling with her. Assisting her.”

“That’s funny. Never seen Carla rely on a caravan hand before,” said Trudy thoughtfully while wiping down a mug with a dirty rag. “Tried to get her to hire Patrick but she insisted that she didn’t want anyone bugging her.” 

“Ah, well this is,” Hob paused to think of an explanation, “a trial run. It might only be temporary if I do not impress her.”

Trudy grunted, satisfied with Hob’s possible inadequacy.

“Looks like she’s coming now,” said Patrick, who had been staring out the diner window since Wolfgang and Simone left. 

Hob peered out and saw a giant lumbering creature with two heads and raw red skin walking beside a thin woman. A ripple of fear passed through Hob. What sort of a world was this? Patrick’s words came back to her – every day the threat of death. Hob had not asked Father why The Institute was below ground, separate from the surface dwellers. Perhaps it was to protect them from frightening beasts like that. She walked out to meet her contact, steeling herself for the possibility of violence.

Trashcan Carla ambled up to the Drumlin Diner. Her bloodshot eyes fell on Hob’s pitiful appearance. “Hey Slim, you have any trouble getting here?”

Hob remembered the code phrase Justin told her to use. “It seemed like bloodbugs chased me halfway across the Commonwealth. But otherwise not too bad,” she improvised.

“Glad to hear it,” drawled Carla sarcastically, giving her a lazy thumbs-up. “Well let’s get a move on. I know Trudy can’t afford to buy anything from me.”

“I’ll be able to next time,” said Trudy, aggravated at Carla’s presumption. “The stranger here somehow talked those asshole chem pushers into leaving, and to top it off she bought some Addictol for Patrick.” She turned and looked at her son. “When are you gonna inhale that stuff anyway?”

“I will Mom, get off my back!”

She set down the glass she was cleaning and stared daggers at her son. “Watch it there, boy. I brought you into this world, and I can take you out of it.” Patrick stared at his feet and ground his teeth. Trudy continued, “Besides, you never even said thank you to this lady for saving your hide.”

Hob shifted uncomfortably and coughed. “It’s no trouble. Good luck Trudy, Patrick,” she said, nodding at each of them and shaking Trudy’s hand. “I wish you the best.”

“C’mon Slim, let’s get going,” said Carla over her shoulder, already leading her Brahmin down the road.

Hob trotted after her. “Why are you calling me ‘Slim’? My name is – “ 

Carla interrupted her. “Don’t care really. Listen, you’re only tagging along for a few days. Then you’re going back to wherever it is you robot-people live. Got it?”

“You don’t want me here?” asked Hob, tripping over a pothole because she was focused on Carla.

“I usually fly solo, Slim. Nothing personal.”

Hob eyed Carla’s body. “Oh right, because of your cybernetic enhancements.”

Carla stopped, dismayed. “They told you about those? Jeez can’t a lady have any feminine secrets?” She rolled her eyes and kept walking. 

Hob didn’t know why this was a sore subject but decided to drop it anyway. 

They walked in silence for a bit. Hob took in the sights of the surface. Everything was so fragile. The slightest misstep and rusted metal instantly turned to dust. Rotten wooden boards clattered and fell apart. The most disconcerting part was how quiet the world seemed – like life had simply forgotten about this place and moved on elsewhere. As they trudged, Hob felt like she and Carla and the two-headed beast were the only living beings around. 

Hob started to get desperate for conversation. “So Carla, what is this, um, nice creature of yours?”

“Ol’ Girl? She’s a Brahmin. Big, dumb, four legs, two heads. Main pack animal used to transport heavy goods across the Commonwealth.” Carla patted the beast’s closest head. It mistook her hand for a fly and flicked its ears in annoyance. 

“Why doesn’t it have any hair?”

“Seriously Slim? They bother to teach you anything down there? Radiation and hair don’t mix. You won’t find many people who can grow long hair. Those who can usually have enough caps to blow their money on luxurious amounts of RadAway.”

Hob nervously twirled her finger in the vesture’s stringy blond hair. She wondered if this shoulder-length hair looked suspiciously long. But Clayton wouldn’t have given her this suit if it would look odd up here, right? “So, where are we now?”

“We’re keeping west and avoiding Lexington. Whole place is a raider den.”

“What’s a raider?”

Carla rolled not just her eyes but her whole head. “God Slim, really? They have flashy magic to whoosh you up here but don’t tell you what a raider is? They probably never told you what a feral ghoul is, either. I’m not gonna do all their dirty work. We’ll come across ‘em soon enough and then you’ll know firsthand.”


	5. College Square

Hob was unlucky enough to encounter raiders and feral ghouls at the same time.

She and Carla had skirted Lexington and ended up stopped in Cambridge. A group of raiders led by a woman named Ricca had set up a toll station in College Square.

“It was gonna be 50 caps, but now it’s 80 Trashcan!” she screamed, spitting slightly in Carla’s face.

Carla sighed impatiently. “Every time,” she muttered. “You know I’m not gonna pay you. I know I’m not gonna pay you. We’re all on the same page. Why do you bother with your little toll station?”

“Because you need to learn who’s in charge around here,” snarled the big raider standing behind Ricca.

“We got ferals!” screamed a sniper, posted high in one of the surrounding buildings.

The air was filled with the sound of gasping, wheezing growls and the echoing pops of gunfire. 

“Slim! Find cover!” shouted Carla as she drew her heavily modified pipe pistol. She slapped Ol’ Girl on the rump, sending the Brahmin back to the safety of the road. 

Hob ducked through a nearby doorway and hid behind a couch. She watched half horrified, half intrigued by the scene unfolding before her. Though an old bus blocked much of her view, she saw Carla and the toll raiders blasting holes in the ghouls that now emerged from every nook and cranny in the area. Moments before Carla and the raiders had been enemies. Now they were on the same team – humans versus feral ghouls. 

A feral clawed out a raider’s throat and Hob felt the urge to vomit. She thought that the vesture must be causing this feeling. Her synth body could not throw up of course, but the desire lingered and pulsed in her torso. She stayed as still as possible, keeping her eyes on Carla. Hob wasn’t certain, but she thought trouble might await her back at The Institute if something happened to their informant. 

Hob opened her pack and found her laser rifle. Breathe and squeeze, breathe and squeeze. That’s what Rosalind kept repeating in the Advanced Systems division. Hob watched Carla, readying her rifle in case of trouble. A swarm of three ghouls emerged from the bus, bobbling their heads for a few seconds before sprinting straight toward the trader. As Hob raised her shaking hands to try to aim, an enormous figure blocked her view.

A blur of red laser fire ricocheted around College Square. Raiders screamed as their flesh burned. Hob squeezed her eyes shut, dropped her rifle, and covered her ears. This was all too much stimulation. She knew she had only been waiting a few minutes, but they felt like an eternity.

A cold metal hand touched her shoulder. “Are you all right, civilian?”

***

At the SRB wall of screens, Madison Li swore loudly.

“Madison, what’s wrong?” asked Allie Filmore, concerned. 

Madison did not remove her eyes from the screen. “Go get Father. The Brotherhood of Steel has come to the Commonwealth.” 

***

Inside the Cambridge Police Station, Hob sat on a bed roll, leaning her back against a rough blue wall. She politely answered the endless medical questions from a petite woman who couldn’t stop fussing over her. “I’m fine really, thank you.” She inclined her head toward Paladin Danse, “He saw that I wasn’t involved at all. Carla was in the thick of it. She probably needs medical attention.”

“Nobody’s touching me,” said Carla irritably, lightly swatting away Scribe Haylen’s outstretched hand.

Danse’s power armor footsteps rattled everything in the lobby area of the police station. “Can you explain your presence in this area?” he asked, narrowing his eyes while continuing to pace.

“Look buddy, this is part of my weekly trade route. I don’t need to explain myself to you. Besides, I had everything under control back there. Nobody asked you to come clanging around, tin man,” said Carla grumpily. She stood up and made for the door.

“I wasn’t asking you,” replied Danse coldly. He turned to Hob, “What’s your name ma’am?”

Hob looked at Carla briefly before answering. “Um, Slim. That’s what my friend Carla over there has always called me.”

“Well Slim, you seem more shaken that most. Was that your first encounter with ferals?”

Hob reasonably assumed that surface dwellers encountered feral ghouls all the time. At least that’s what Patrick had implied. “My first time with such a large number of ferals and raiders at the same time,” she replied truthfully.

“Your party definitely appeared overwhelmed. Have you ever discharged that weapon before?” asked Danse, pushing Hob’s laser rifle with the end of his own gun. 

“Just during target practice. Never in such a chaotic situation. I thought I should stay out of the fray instead of missing and hitting Carla accidentally.”

“Understandable, civilian,” said Danse. “Still, you should think about putting those weapon skills to use. The Commonwealth is crawling with ferals, among other disgusting creatures.”

Hob felt a familiar ripple of fear. “Like what?”

The sour-faced man standing behind Danse interrupted, “Super mutants, deathclaws, synths. There’s no end to the abominations you might come across. The only way to handle them is by putting a hole in their heads. Sneaking away from a fight only ensures that the next person to encounter the danger could die. Don’t pass the buck.” 

Hob’s face went pale. Her real heart thudded and the vesture’s approximation of heartbeats pounded in her ears. “How do you…what are synths?” she asked, aiming for polite confusion. 

Knight Rhys scoffed. “I would assume you know what a synth is. You’re carrying one’s weapon.” He stared hard at Hob, furrowing his dark brows.

Carla rolled her eyes and came to Hob’s rescue. “We’re traders. We come across all sorts of weapons. Gave the kid that one so she wouldn’t have to reload as often.”

Hob piggybacked on Carla’s statement. “Oh I didn’t know this was a synth gun. Aren’t you Brotherhood people in possession of similar weapons? I assume both synths and people can use laser rifles,” she said innocently. “And you didn’t answer my question. What’s a synth?”

Haylen glared at the knight. “She’s already terrified from the fight and now you have to go interrogating her? Cool it Rhys.” She squeezed Hob’s hand and looked at her with softened eyes. “A synth is a robotic being designed to look exactly like a human. Synths were created by an organization called The Institute. They send synths out into the Commonwealth to kill real humans and replace them. This way they can control people. The Institute is deceitful and dangerous, as are their synths.” 

Hob shakily asked, “How dangerous?” 

“Extremely,” answered Danse. “The most insidious part is that synths don’t always know they’re synths, or that they’re acting on The Institute’s orders. But they can massacre whole settlements without getting the slightest scratch. We want to protect humanity from the synth scourge.”

“Here’s our radio frequency,” said Haylen, scribbling something on a scrap of paper and handing it to Hob. “If you ever come across something that looks like a person but is behaving oddly, or even a dead body that is full of wires and chips and plastic, find the nearest radio and let us know. We want to defend the Commonwealth from the synth menace.” 

Carla laughed and opened the police station door. “What a load of baloney. C’mon Slim, let’s go before they fill your head with more crackpot theories.”

Hob stood up to leave.

“Wait!” said Haylen, rummaging in a small metal box. “Take a few stimpaks for the road. It’s dangerous out there.”

Hob smiled but said nothing. She shoved the scrap of paper and the stimpaks into her bag and then followed Carla out the door. 

Haylen turned to Rhys and Danse and stuck out her tongue. “You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. It can’t hurt to have a civilian out there on our side.” 

“Outstanding, scribe,” said Danse, slapping Haylen on the back.

Rhys scowled and muttered to himself, “There’s something off about that ‘Slim’, mark my words.” He stormed off to a back room in the police station.


	6. Phase Three

The Directorate was gathered in the board room for an emergency meeting.

“They’re here for us,” groaned Madison with her head in her hands. “This is all my fault.”

“We can’t be sure of that,” said Allie, patting Madison’s back tentatively, trying to reassure her.

“Okay so it’s just a coincidence that in the Capital Wasteland I told the Brotherhood all about crazy Horace Pinkerton and Dr. Zimmer and the hunt for A3-21? Scribe Rothchild wanted to know what I had been doing in Rivet City before resuming Project Purity and it just sort of spilled out,” moaned Madison, shaking her head back and forth. “Why didn’t I just tell them about my work on apples? Nice, boring apples.”

Allie gave Clayton and Justin a reproachful look and jerked her head toward Madison. They both shrugged unhelpfully. Allie glared at them. 

“Well maybe you gave them a head start. But they would’ve come up here eventually following the rumors,” said Alan cautiously. Madison scared him a little, and he did not want to say the wrong thing.

“I suppose it’s not my fault the Brotherhood changed course so radically. Elder Lyons knew how to lead, how to inspire. This new kid in charge has delusions of grandeur. He’s just trying to make a name for himself with some big, history-making battle. And you can’t have a legendary battle without an equally fearsome enemy. Lacking an enemy? No problem! Spread enough rumors and you can turn an ordinary enemy into an extraordinary one.” 

Father had been listening but hadn’t yet spoken. “Enough. Madison, we value your work very highly. Luring you away from the Brotherhood was a calculated risk that we chose to take. You are worth it, especially for my pet project.” Father looked across the table, “Justin, increase the size of the watcher flock in Cambridge. I want to know if there are more than these three Brotherhood members roaming the surface. I’m sure they will be hunting our property, both the loyal synths and the escapees.” Justin nodded curtly. Father continued, “Clayton, I’m worried about J9-39’s vesture. Are you sure that it will look realistic enough if it took a bullet, for instance?”

“Absolutely sir. The donor’s blood vessels are all intact on the other side, encased in the ballistic gel. The vesture won’t bleed out, but it responds well enough to stimpaks in a field medic situation. Besides, Polly – or was it Dolly? – whatever her name was, she got in plenty of fights at the Combat Zone. At least that’s what Tommy Lonegan said. The vesture is covered in pretty standard wasteland scars. If the Brotherhood scribe inspected Hob the suit wouldn’t have raised any suspicions. You know how wary they are of perfection up there.”

“Very good,” replied Father. “Alan, have you finished creating the psychological test for when J9 returns, or do you need more time?”

“I still need some time, depending on what she and Carla run into on their way to Bunker Hill. I gotta say boss I am really impressed with her programming so far. Her ability to improvise and mediate conflicts is remarkable.”

“I remain unsure. Are you absolutely certain that we are not endangering ourselves by building it without a recall code?”

“There’s always a risk,” said Alan slowly. “But as we saw with the fourth-gen prototypes, the existence of a recall code blocks key connections from forming between the decision-making part of their frontal lobes and the speech part of their temporal lobes. We saw immediate success with how Hob handled the situation with the chem dealers. None of our other synths could’ve expressed such nuance, much less on their first day above ground.”

“We still need to be able to terminate at a moment’s notice though,” added Justin. “X6-88 already knows the protocol for deactivating J9 without harming its synth body or the vesture.” 

“Excellent. Now for our other pressing topic – Allie, please tell me you have some solution to these rolling blackouts?”

“I’m sorry Father. As I’ve said before, there’s really only one solution. We need a long-lasting pre-war energy source for the reactor.”

“Any leads?” asked Madison. “A.S. keeps coming up with short-term solutions. We’ve upgraded the housing of the current reactor, replaced the exhaust couplings, and refined our calculations for the magnetic confinement field. But we too have concluded that the reactor must be upgraded.” 

“We’re still sending out synth recon teams to try to find the location of a beryllium agitator. But we keep running into the fugitive synth problem,” mumbled Allie, avoiding Father’s gaze. 

“I see,” he said quietly. “Very well. These two problems are serious and long-term. They shall be officially designated as Phase Three: find and install a beryllium agitator, and find out why the third gens are inclined to leave The Institute’s care. Let’s get to work everyone.”

There was a scraping of chairs as the division heads stood up. As they began filing out of the room, Father tugged on Alan Binet’s coat sleeve. “Alan, walk with me down to Robotics. You and Max Loken and I need to have a chat.”

Alan swallowed nervously and followed Father out of the board room.


	7. Nasty, Brutish, and Short

After they left the Cambridge Police Station, Hob trudged along, lost in thought. She didn’t say anything to Carla until they were walking past Cambridge Polymer Labs. “Do you think I’m dangerous? Have I been sent to replace you?”

“Jeez kid, those Brotherhood assholes really got under your skin, didn’t they?”

Hob wasn’t sure if Carla knew about the vesture and if that was supposed to be a joke. She waited.

Carla sighed. “Look, obviously I work for The Institute for a reason, right?” She gestured around her. “As you might have noticed, the Commonwealth sucks. I travel this route every week, and every week I see the same shit. Raiders stealing from and killing scavvers, scavvers stealing from and killing settlers, settlers selling their kids into slavery just so there’s one less mouth to feed.”

Hob gasped loudly. Carla ignored her.

“If there’s one thing I know for sure it’s that life shouldn’t be like this. It’s been over two hundred years since the bombs dropped. And the world still looks the same. Worse even. Toppling towers, piles of debris, rotting corpses, a shit-filled river.” She pointed to the Charles River on their right. “Life in the wasteland is nasty, brutish, and short. The only chance any of us has at a better world lies with The Institute, wherever it is. Though it’s probably here, just down quite a ways.” She stopped and looked north toward the ruins of the Commonwealth Institute of Technology. 

Hob stared at the crumbling classical architecture. Were they above The Institute right now? She could scarcely believe that a bit of earth was the only thing that separated order from chaos, cleanliness from filth. 

“We’re gonna stop here for the night,” said Carla, tethering Ol’ Girl to the bars of the nearby scaffolding. “I can count on the birds to be watching over me here.” Carla unrolled her sleeping bag and laid it on a well-worn patch of dead grass, sheltered from view by a large column. “Better get some shut-eye while you can.”

“Oh I don’t need sleep,” replied Hob, but Carla was already snoring.

Hob climbed to the second story scaffolding. She sat with her legs dangling over the edge and her head pressed against the cold metal bar. She saw white lights south of the river and squinted at how bright they were.

Before, in The Institute, Hob had no idea what the above ground was going to be like. But all her hypotheses were already wildly off the mark. She never considered that surface dwellers might be afraid of synths like her. Hob was basically a three-day old baby. She wasn’t even sure if her interactions with humans could be called successful. Every time a conversation concluded she evaluated her speech choices. Hob just bumbled through somehow. And yet humans were afraid of her?

The face of Knight Rhys loomed large in her mind. His eyes were so wary, his eyebrows unflinching. He correctly suspected she was a synth. But how? 

Hob was lost in thought for hours. Eventually she realized the sun had come up and the lights on the other side of the river had faded. She jumped down from the scaffolding and landed lightly next to Ol’ Girl. Hob tentatively reached a hand out and patted the beast’s smooth red skin. The Brahmin’s left head nudged her gently and resumed nibbling on dead grass.

“You’re not so bad for a scary creature,” thought Hob. “I’m not so bad either.” 

She turned to Carla’s sleeping spot. No one was there. Hob immediately panicked. She breathed quickly, whipping her head around frantically. No trace of the trader. Kidnapped? Killed? Hob thought about shouting Carla’s name but decided against it. Anyone could hear her and come over to investigate with their anger and guns and menace. 

Hob’s vesture took shallow breaths. She calmed herself and tried to remember her training. “Oh wait, I didn’t get any training,” she thought angrily. “I was just thrown into this without a second thought. How can I contact someone to help me?”

Her eyes fell on the crows, gathered in a suspiciously perfect circle. She walked slowly over to them, trying to figure out what she should say to the watchers. 

“Hey Slim, where ya going?” shouted Carla from the other side of the courtyard. 

Hob quickly breathed out a huge sigh of relief. “I thought you had been kidnapped! Or worse!”

“I was just taking a leak. Jeez, kid. Can’t a lady get a bit of post-apocalypse privacy?” She chuckled at her unfunny joke and returned to the pack Brahmin, adjusting straps on the bobbling pile of junk. “Let’s get going Slim. We’re following the river all the way to Bunker Hill in Charlestown. Might need to make a few detours depending on the kind of trouble we spot.”

They set off. Hob felt a nagging question at the back of her mind. “Carla, last night across the river I saw this huge building with bright lights. What is that place? How would we get there?”

Carla grumbled, “Every time. What am I, a map? That’s Diamond City, kid. The ‘great, green jewel’ of the Commonwealth,” she said mockingly. “I make a point of never going there. Place is full of snooty assholes.”

Hob walked forward while staring to the right. A city? That must be where civilized surface dwellers live. Maybe she could ask Father to go there next.


	8. Cherry Popping

It wasn’t long before the pair ran into problems. Past Monsignor Plaza lay a half finished pre-war construction site. Unfortunately, it was inhabited by a swarm of super mutants.

“Dammit. They’re back. Where do they even come from? Why am I not surprised,” muttered Carla under her breath while searching through a large trunk on the very top of the pack Brahmin.

“What? Who? Who’s back?” asked Hob. Her eyes were wide with alarm and she was already dreading Carla’s answer.

“Super mutants, kid. Big, green, stupid, always angry. Kind of like a human on Psychobuff, except permanently.” 

Hob could not prevent the pitch of her voice from getting higher. “Super mutants? Didn’t the grumpy Brotherhood knight mention those? Aren’t they extremely dangerous?”

“Yup,” replied Carla nonchalantly, fiddling with a large contraption in her hand.

“What should we do? Find somewhere safe to hide, like you had me do in College Square?”

“No can do, Slim. They’re not going anywhere. They don’t care about money so they can’t be paid off like raiders can. There’s only one way to deal with super mutants.” Carla heaved the enormous weapon onto her shoulder. “Hey shit-for-brains! Over here! Look, a nice juicy Brahmin. Come and get it while it’s fresh!”

Hob’s legs felt like jelly. Ten hulking green figures emerged from the construction site, lured out by the sound of Carla’s voice.

“Mmm, tasty!” shouted Carla. “Psst, kid, get your rifle out. You’re gonna need it,” she hissed at Hob.

Hob fumbled in her pack. She could feel the ground thudding beneath her as the lumbering green horde approached. “Breathe and squeeze,” she thought, “like Rosalind said.”

“Hey morons. Suck! My! Nuke!” Carla cackled as she pulled the trigger. A high-pitched whistling sound preceded an enormous orange and gray mushroom cloud.

Hob gaped at the destruction in front of her. She shouldn’t have left her mouth open. To her horror, she tasted blood and ash and chunks of flesh. She immediately doubled over and spat out bite-sized bits of super mutant.

“Kid, it’s headed straight for you!” Carla screamed frantically. 

Hob reacted automatically and squeezed the trigger of the laser rifle. A mutant hound slumped dead at her feet, a sizzling hole burned through its forehead.

“Nice,” said Carla with admiration, patting Hob on the back. “You popped your cherry. Didn’t think you had it in ya.” 

Hob was staring at the lifeless form on the ground, horrified by how quickly and easily she had destroyed a living being. “Huh? Popped my what?”

“Made your first kill,” laughed Carla. “You’re a wastelander now.” She returned the Fat Man to its trunk and readjusted the straps.

“I don’t want to do this again,” said Hob. She crouched down and lightly poked the mutant hound’s cheek. “Was this a dog? Their dog?”

“Yup. And if you hadn’t shot it, then it would’ve torn your throat out. Seen it happen loads of times. It’s kill or be killed out here, Slim. Nothing personal.” Carla slapped the Brahmin’s rump. “C’mon Ol’ Girl. You know the way from here.” The Brahmin lowed and plodded onward.

The rest of the day was blissfully uneventful. The pair reached Bunker Hill by nightfall. Carla’s mood had brightened considerably upon coming around a bend and seeing the illuminated marble obelisk.

“That is enormous!” commented Hob. “What a beautiful sight compared to rubble and ruins.”

“It’s still a ruin, kid, but yeah, it’s home,” replied Carla pleasantly. “Evening Kessler.” Carla waved at a weary but stern-looking woman guarding the Bunker Hill gate.

“Hey Carla. Who’s this with you?” she asked warily, memorizing Hob’s face and comparing it to everyone else who had ever passed through the gate. 

“That’s Slim. I was showing her the ropes. She wants to be a caravan guard when she grows up.” Carla chuckled to herself.

“Oh I see. Nice to meet you, Slim.” Kessler smiled at Hob as they passed. “Maybe we’ll be seeing more of you around Bunker Hill.”

“Maybe!” replied Hob enthusiastically, flashing a grin at Kessler and giving her a thumbs-up, imitating what she saw Carla do when they first met. After these past couple days, it was a real treat to meet a civilized human in a civilized place.

“Hey,” said a gruff voice next to Hob.

“Hey there!” She waved at a bald man in a newsboy cap who was leaning against a wooden shack. “I like your sunglasses! They are very shiny. Almost like a mirror.”

The man grunted, flicking a cigarette to the ground.

“Who was that?” Hob whispered to Carla. “He didn’t seem very friendly.”

“Another caravan guard. He must be pretty stupid too since he’s wearing his sunglasses at night. Anyway, here we are. The Bunker Hill marketplace.”

Even at night the area buzzed with energy. Traders and shoppers chatted amicably. A small red-haired child with a smudge on her nose ran past and tagged an old man wearing a dapper black hat. She giggled and ran off behind the market. “Meg, I’m coming for you!” he shouted as he hopped off his stool.

Hob smiled. This place felt cozy, almost homey.

“This is where we part ways kid,” said Carla. “Not sure when your people are coming here, but that seems like a you problem. It’s my night off and mama’s getting drunk.”

Hob’s insides twisted with an unfamiliar feeling. Guilt? Sadness? She couldn’t identify it. She stuck out her hand. “It’s been a real pleasure Carla. Your guidance has proven invaluable. Thank you.”

“Boy you guys really are old-school, aren’t you? All right, handshake it is. See ya around, Slim.” Carla turned and practically skipped off in the direction of Tony Savoldi’s bar. 

Hob stood for a moment, staring after her. She turned and walked through the Bunker Hill gate, nodding at Kessler, and sat on a stone wall, waiting for a sign from her contact.

“You dropped this,” said the caravan guard in sunglasses. He left a holotape on the ground next to Hob and walked off.

She picked it up. “Oh I don’t think so. Sir?”

The man headed south toward the bridge, already out of Hob’s sight. Next to a ramshackle apartment building, he bumped into a tall black man dressed in a leather trench coat.

“Scuse me.”

“Pardon me sir. I did not see you there.”

The guard grunted something in reply and continued down the bridge, his pace almost imperceptibly quickening.

X6-88 proceeded north and saw Hob sitting on the wall. “J9-39,” he said, lowering his voice, “follow me please.” 

Hob hopped off the wall and followed the courser to a secluded alley. X6 spoke to his wrist, “Two, ready to relay.”

A bright blue flash illuminated the alley. Seconds later it was empty.


	9. Synth Gorillas

X6 and Hob headed toward the elevator from the molecular relay, passing an Institute scientist manning the relay terminal.

“How many times have you been to the surface?” asked Hob. She peered at the courser, who continued looking straight ahead.

“That was my 478th time.”

Hob whistled in appreciation. She wondered if by her 478th trip the relay would stop feeling so strange. “What do you think of the surface?”

“I do not care for it,” he replied coldly. “Humanity will be much improved once the surface dwellers die off. It is only a matter of time before they annihilate themselves.”

Hob did not respond. As the elevator descended, she looked through the glass and watched the residents of The Institute moving here and there. They reminded her of the people in the Bunker Hill marketplace. The only difference was how clean everyone here looked.

“I have been instructed to escort you to Robotics.”

“Ah,” said Hob, half listening. She was reflecting on her time with Carla and the cozy feeling of Bunker Hill.

They continued in silence. She realized with a start that she was still holding the holotape left by the mirrored-sunglasses-wearing caravan guard. Hob casually brought her pack to her front and made a show of rummaging through it.

“Might need some more fusion cells, just in case,” she said casually while carefully placing the holo at the bottom of the bag next to the scrap of paper and stimpaks from Scribe Haylen. “It is awfully violent up there.”

“I’m sure the requisition synth can provide you some. Just ask Father for permission first.”

They reached Robotics and X6 nodded at the first-gen synth guard. It opened the door and X6 immediately turned on his heel and headed off to the SRB.

Hob instinctively smiled at the guard, but then frowned to herself when it made no acknowledgement of her expression.

“Welcome back Hob!” exclaimed Alan Binet, waving at her.

She headed through the division door and saw Father standing next to a terminal, reading over what Alan had just finished typing. 

“We are glad to see you return safely,” said Father warmly.

“As am I,” replied Hob. “At times I wasn’t sure if I’d make it up there.”

“On the subject of the surface, we’d like to ask you a few hypothetical questions in order to assess how your trip above ground affected you,” said Alan. 

"Go for it,” said Hob casually.

Alan read from the terminal. “Okay, first question. You discover a young boy lost in an abandoned building. He’s hungry and frightened, but also appears to be in possession of stolen property. What do you do?”

Hob thought for a moment. “Is this taking place on the surface, or in The Institute?”

“However you choose to interpret the question,” said Father.

“Well, people on the surface steal all the time, so I wouldn’t be very concerned about the stolen property. But I would be concerned that the child is alone. Without my intervention he might get sold into slavery. I would hold his hand and help him out of the building, and then ask him questions that might help me locate his parent or guardian.”

Alan finished typing. “Thank you for your response. Second question. Old Lawrence Higgs has locked himself in his quarters again, and you’ve been ordered to get him out. How do you proceed?”

Hob paused, drumming her fingers on top of the terminal. “Does he perceive that there is a threat to his well-being, and I’ve been ordered to remove him from this place of safety?”

“Whatever interpretation of the question you see as valid,” answered Alan.

“In that case, I abstain from forcing him out of his quarters until I more fully understand why he has to leave.”

“Thank you. Third and final question. A fellow member of The Institute is in possession of your favorite cafeteria food ration. You want it. What’s the best way to attain it?”

“Oh that’s simple,” laughed Hob. “I don’t try to attain it because I don’t require food rations.”

“Thank you for your responses Hob. Alan will need some time to perform a qualitative analysis.” Father gestured toward the door. “If you could please head to BioScience now? Clayton will help you extricate yourself from the vesture.” He looked Hob up and down and wrinkled his nose. “Both the suit and your clothes will doubtless need to be scrubbed – thoroughly.”

Hob turned to leave. As the Robotics door closed, she heard Father muttering something to Alan as he pointed at the terminal. 

On the way to BioScience Hob reflected on the test she just took. Were there correct answers, and what did the questions have to do with her time above ground? She assumed they were going to ask about her personal experiences. All those exciting brushes with death. A little shiver vibrated through the vesture. Hob frowned, wondering why her terror on the surface had transformed into a strange keenness now that she was back in The Institute.

In BioScience she found Clayton Holdren staring at a large enclosure. 

“Hey Clayton, Father told me you could help me remove the vesture for cleaning?”

Clayton made a murmur of acknowledgment but kept scribbling on his clipboard. “Sorry pal, gotta get this down before it whooshes out of my brain. Behavior patterns…possible splicing…decapitated handler…okay finished! Pardon me, my ears heard you ask a question but it didn’t stick.” 

“I was asking about vesture removal, but instead now I am asking you what those are?” She gazed up at the apes majestically strutting next to the glass wall.

“These are synth replicas of the silverback gorilla, a jungle animal that lived before the war.”

“Okay, but why?”

“Why what?”

Hob struggled to find polite words. “I mean why…make these? Are they necessary for the survival of humanity? Do they provide defense or food for residents of The Institute? I see you grow many plants here in BioScience, but how do you acquire meat?”

“Um,” said Clayton, unprepared for this conversation, “if we can bring back gorillas then it stands to reason that we could bring back all sorts of pre-war animals, for all sorts of uses.”

“But why did you start with a gorilla? Why not something simple like a dog? Humans love dogs. Even the super mutants on the surface have dogs. You could try making one. A dog could provide defense down here, though to be fair probably not food. I don’t think dog meat would taste very good.”

Clayton was staring off into space, mouthing the word “dog” over and over again. “Hob you’re right. Hit the nail on the head. Boy, one trip to the surface and now you’re smarter than all of us.” He clapped his hands. “So you’re here for some de-vesturing? Let’s head into the closet and get that thing off you.”

In the circular side room, Hob dropped her pack in a corner. “Can I just leave this here? I don’t have any quarters.”

“Of course.” Clayton helped her undress and tossed her dirty clothes in a bag, then sealed it carefully. “We’ll send these to the decontamination laundry room.” 

Hob nodded. She didn’t think she’d been exposed to radiation, but to be fair the vesture didn’t have any specialized radiation sensors. Recalling Carla’s comments, Hob added, “I don’t want anyone in The Institute to lose their hair.”

“Awful considerate of you.” Clayton fiddled with the modified stimpak laser. “Just have to reverse the polarity. Usually stimpaks make flesh come together, not tear apart.” The vesture made a sickly squelching sound as Hob helped Clayton peel it off. “Any complaints about the suit? Did it ride up too high on your behind?”

Hob’s mechanical voice returned. “If I had one suggestion – well it’s really more of question – can the vesture handle food or drink? I’m afraid I’ll keep finding myself in situations where it’s awkward to explain why I’m not partaking in normal human sustenance activities.”

“That did come up in testing and I’m so glad you asked. Yes we can make that happen. Just have to install a receptacle on the inner side of the vesture where the food and liquid will go. You can empty it out through the vesture’s natural waste tubes. Tell whoever you’re with that you have to ‘relieve yourself’. They’ll be none the wiser.”

“Thank you Clayton. That will help a lot. I don’t want them to think I’m a synth.” Hob gestured at its polymer limbs.

“We all heard about your encounter with the Brotherhood of Steel. That was a bit of a surprise. Obviously we don’t want anything bad to happen to you up there, so a sustenance receptacle will be a handy modification. Any more questions?”

“Yes actually.” Hob looked around the room at the vestures on hangers. “What do you think would look good in Diamond City? I want to ask Father if I can explore there next.”

Clayton browsed the racks, humming thoughtfully. “Oh I’ve got the perfect one here. You’ll fit in, but stand out too – in a good way.”

“This looks nice. It’s taller than the other vesture. And do you know what clothes to wear there?”

“I’ll find something that works.”

The synth smiled and gave Clayton a thumbs-up. He laughed and returned the motion. Hob left BioScience, quite pleased with itself. A successful human interaction.


	10. Long-Winded Rambling

Hob returned to Robotics. Father and Alan were listening to Max Loken complaining loudly about something. He stopped gesticulating when he saw Hob walk up behind them. 

“Hello Father.”

Shaun turned around. “Yes Hob, something I can do for you?”

“May I make a request? I understand if the answer is no.”

“You may,” said Father quizzically. 

“For my next visit to the surface, I would like to gather information about Diamond City. I believe knowing about such a large settlement could be useful to The Institute.”

Father gave Alan a meaningful look. “This is indeed unusual. But I would be willing to grant your request.” 

“Do you have an informant there, or should I prepare to travel alone?”

“We have three informants, as a matter of fact,” said Father, holding up his fingers. “One is a synth with the designation M7-62. It is currently playing the role of the Diamond City mayor.”

Hob was surprised. It was absolutely certain the Brotherhood of Steel soldiers should never find out that a synth was governing a whole town.

“Mayor McDonough could work as your D.C. contact. Another informant is a bartender named Henry Cooke. However, the third informant might be the most useful.”

Alan interrupted, “Father, this seems like a bad idea. He’s so volatile. I’m not sure Hob could keep up with him.” Hob frowned. 

Father held up a hand to Alan. “I am aware of your opinions of him. But again, we want Hob to remain safe if it is going to explore a city full of such suspicious, paranoid people. Actually,” said Father, “we might be able to accomplish two goals at once. Hob, come with me please. Alan – “

Alan cleared his throat and pretended not to hear. He busied himself inspecting the components stacked on the Robotics neuro-electrical station. 

“When you finish pouting, send him a message to meet us in Advanced Systems. And remember your place.”

Hob awkwardly followed Father out of the division. It thought about making an innocuous comment to break the silence, but decided against it.

In Advanced Systems, Father entered Madison Li’s office and spoke quietly in her ear.

She huffed. “Seriously Father? No. He’s not ready. We just installed Alan’s latest personality matrix and addressed the motor control issues. What if there’s a problem?”

“Madison, this is not up for debate,” said Father sternly.

She grumbled and headed to her terminal, unlocking the sliding door to a small room. The hydraulic hissing sound caused a young boy to set down the book he was reading. He leapt up from his chair and bounced over to the group.

“Hi Father, have you come to visit me? Yesterday, Dr. Watson tried to explain to me how lasers work. I don’t think I understand. Maybe when I’m older. He also said I’m too small for the molecular relay. But that doesn’t make any sense. Molecules are smaller than I am. I think things are always easier for grown-ups. Besides, they don’t have people looking at them for long periods of time. It’s hard because Dr. Watson gets to have secrets but I don’t.” The boy turned to Hob. “What’s your name? My name’s Shaun, and that’s Father’s name too. One time he told me I’m ‘fascinating.’ Wouldn’t it be funny if your name was Shaun also? Dr. Thompson says ‘Shaun’ is a boy’s name, but you don’t look like a boy. Usually boys aren’t made of polymer. Dr. Li told me that polymer is – “

“Shaun, what did we say about letting others have a chance to speak?” groaned Madison, rubbing her temples with her index fingers.

“Oh I’m sorry Dr. Li. I just get so excited to meet new people,” said Shaun, rocking on the balls of his feet and swinging his arms back and forth. 

Hob stuck out its hand, “My Institute designation is J9-39, but you can call me Hob.”

The boy shook Hob’s hand. “Nice to meet you Hob. You sure are nice. See those blue beams over there? You have to be careful near those or else you could get shocked. I got shocked, and then I forgot a whole bunch of stuff. But then afterwards, I could read my science books a lot faster. Have you met Dr. Ayo? He yelled at me once, but I couldn’t listen to what he was saying because I thought he smelled bad. Don’t tell him I said that, though. Does the surface make people smell bad? I’ve never been there so I wouldn’t know.”

Father found the right spot in Shaun’s long-winded rambling to interrupt. “Would you like to go to the surface with Hob?” 

Shaun experienced speechlessness for the first time in his life.

“I will take that to mean yes,” said Father. “Let’s get you some clothes that are appropriate for the surface. Nathan?”

Nathan Filmore turned around from the control panel he was fiddling with. “Yes Father?”

“Would you run up to your quarters and see if young Quentin has any surface-appropriate clothing that might fit Shaun? Thank you.”

“No problem.” Nathan left A.S. and almost bumped into a tall man walking in.

“Ah, perfect timing.” Father arranged his face to seem more agreeable than he felt. “Shaun, Hob, I’d like you to meet your Diamond City tour guide.”

A balding man with severe features stomped up to the group. A huge red gash trailed from his forehead, over his left eye, and down his cheek. “What?” he grunted. His voice was low and gruff, like sandpaper.

“Conrad Kellogg, this is young Shaun, and this is Hob, our first viable fourth-generation synth.”

He barely glanced at the two. “What’s the mission, boss?” He emphasized the last word. 

Father bit the inside of his cheek. “You will escort these two to Diamond City. Introduce them to friendly people, take them to the shops, buy Shaun any toys that interest him.” The boy squealed with excitement behind Father. “And pick up the report from M7-62. See the requisition synth for the usual allotment of caps.” 

“Fine. Let’s go.” Kellogg turned to leave.

“Wait, Father? My vesture?” said Hob, looking down at its gray torso.

“Of course. Head to BioScience, get fitted, and then meet Kellogg and Shaun at the molecular relay.”

“I knew I was big enough for the relay!” shouted Shaun triumphantly, shoving his little fist in the air.

“Shaun, please, use your inside voice,” chided Madison. 

“Soon I’ll get to use my surface voice!” he whispered loudly.

Father crouched down to look at Shaun, “If you’re good on this visit, you might get to go to the surface again sometime.”

The boy practically vibrated with excitement.

In the BioScience vesture closet, Hob was telling Clayton about the Diamond City mission. 

“No kidding? Never thought Father would let S9-23 go to the surface, especially so soon. It’s pretty risky sending a prototype.”

Hob blinked in confusion. “Shaun is a synth? What is the purpose of creating a child synth?”

Clayton lowered his voice, “Between you and me, no one has any idea. Father just got a bee in his bonnet one day and refused to explain why. Seems like a waste of energy and resources.” He adjusted Hob’s servos, this time increasing its height. “Madison especially did not want to go through with it, but now she’s more attached to the kid than Father even. Kind of thinks of herself as his mother, probably because she never had any children.”

Hob stepped into the vesture and pulled it up. Clayton pointed the stimpak laser at the leg seams. 

“Clayton, is S9-23 what Father looked like as a boy?”

“Well obviously I wasn’t around yet when Father was a kid, so I wouldn’t personally know, but based on Institute records that’s everyone’s main theory.” 

“If the child is any indication, then Father must be extremely intelligent.”

“Oh yeah, he’s got us all beat by a mile. Maybe that’s the advantage to being born 100% radiation-free. All set,” said Clayton, patting Hob’s shoulder.

Hob walked over to the clothing folded neatly on top of the dresser. “I think I can dress myself this time, but I might still need some help,” said Hob, holding up a tie with a questioning look on his face.

Clayton laughed, “No problem.” 

Hob managed to button up his suit jacket and zip up his pants. Clayton patiently watched Hob fumble with the tie before intervening and showing him how to tie it. “Boy you look dapper.”

Hob gazed at his new reflection. A tall, sophisticated black man looked back at him. 

“I like this hair. Long hair is uncommon on the surface,” said Hob, admiring his appearance and running his hands through the tight curls that came down to his collarbone. 

“That’s an astute observation. But not all long hair is the same. Your vesture has a particular type of curl that is very tight. They’re called dreadlocks.”

“Dreadlocks,” murmured Hob as he pulled the hair to its full length and let go, watching it with interest as it sprang back into a tight coil. Clayton cleared his throat and handed Hob his pack. “Thank you Clayton,” said Hob, taking one last look at himself. 

“No problem bud. I hope that sustenance receptacle works out well for you.”

Hob waved as he headed out of BioScience. On his way from the requisition synth to the molecular relay he tried to think of an alias that would match this taller, more muscular vesture. He didn’t want to be called “Slim” again.


	11. Enjoy Your Stay

The group molecular relayed to a sewer grate outside of Diamond City. 

“Stick close,” grumbled Kellogg. “There shouldn’t be any problems getting you through the gate, but on the way there could be plenty of super mutants and feral mongrels. Depends on how shitty a job Diamond City security has been doing lately.”

Shaun reached up and grabbed Hob’s hand, squeezing it a little as an outlet for the flash of fear inside him. The boy spotted a basketball hoop as they were walking away from the Fens sewer. “Is that for playing games? We should get one those for The Institute!”

“Quiet kid,” shushed Kellogg. “And no mentions of The Institute anywhere up here. Got it?”

Shaun and Hob both nodded. As they got closer to their destination, Hob looked nervously at the turrets chugging along outside Diamond City, but they did not take heed of the group.

At the intercom, Kellogg pushed the button roughly. “It’s me, Sullivan. Open up.”

“Right away,” replied Danny Sullivan. Two enormous metal arms pulled up the magnetically sealed door. It creaked and groaned as the metal scraped against the wall of what was once Fenway Park. As they crossed through the old ballpark’s former turnstiles, Danny came over, leaving another security guard to watch the elevator access. “Who have we got here?” he asked, eyeing Hob and Shaun suspiciously.

“The name’s Bayes. Mister Thomas Bayes. How do you do?” Hob extended his hand cordially.

“Uh, good. Thanks.” Danny looked at Hob’s hand but did not shake it. “And the kid?”

“My nephew, Shaun. We have traveled to the Commonwealth looking for a fresh start. Mister Kellogg here graciously escorted us.” Shaun peeked at Danny from behind Hob but didn’t say anything. Danny seemed satisfied. Hob was pleased that the backstory he thought of had passed the security guard’s entrance test.

“Need to see the mayor,” drawled Kellogg. 

“Of course,” said Danny, taking a step back. “Go ahead Mister Kellogg.”

Kellogg brushed past him and headed toward the elevator behind the security desk. Hob and Shaun followed. They rode in silence up several floors to the mayor’s office overlooking the city.

“Hold it,” said a Diamond City security guard with a thick Boston accent. “Meetings with the mayor by appointment only. Oh Kellogg. Sorry. Didn’t see ya there. Go on in. But you two wait here.”

“They’re with me,” he said, ignoring the guard.

Shaun raced over to the rigged up elevator made from scaffolding. “Whoa! Just look at it!”

“Careful sweetie!” A petite blond woman got up quickly from her desk chair and grabbed Shaun’s hand, pulling him back slightly. “There’s no barrier. Wouldn’t want you to fall through the crack.”

“Thank you ma’am! Wow your hair is really shiny. How do you get it like that? Did you paint that picture of a farm? I didn’t think the world looked like that anymore. Or is that an old picture? Is there coffee in this pot? Can I have some? Father won’t let me have coffee because he thinks it’s unnecessary. What’s your father like? Do you have any kids?”

Kellogg inclined his head at Hob, motioning to follow him. They left Shaun jabbering excitedly with Geneva, who had a strained customer service smile plastered to her face. 

In the mayor’s office, McDonough was staring blankly out a huge opening that at one time had been a glass window for the luxury box seats.

“Got what I need?” asked Kellogg.

“The envelope’s on the desk, as always,” replied McDonough, without looking at him. 

Hob stared at the mayor’s back. He coughed politely. “It’s nice to meet you sir,” said Hob.

McDonough turned around, unaware anyone else had come in with Kellogg. “Oh hello there! Pardon my manners. I’m Mayor McDonough. Welcome to Diamond City, or as we call it, the great, green Jewel of the Commonwealth! Are you just visiting? Enjoy your stay!”

Hob looked at Kellogg, unsure what he was supposed to say. The mercenary quietly explained to the mayor, “He’s one of ours. Goes by Thomas Bayes. He’s here for recon. Gonna stay with me for a bit. That’s not a problem, right M7?” 

The mayor cleared his throat. “No, no, not a problem at all. Besides, Mister Bayes here looks like upper stands material. Perhaps you might visit with Henry Cooke, owner of the Colonial Taphouse. It’s a refined destination for mingling with some of the more discerning residents of this beautiful city. Wellingham provides top-notch service. Enjoy your stay!” 

Hob frowned slightly at the repeated phrase. “Thank you mayor. It was very nice to meet you.”

They left the mayor’s office. McDonough called after them, “Thanks for visiting Diamond City! Enjoy your stay!” Hob frowned even harder.

Kellogg relieved Geneva of her temporary babysitting duties. He tapped Shaun’s shoulder. “C’mon kid, let’s go. If you don’t squirm we can take the scaffolding rig down to the ground.”

“Awesome!” shouted Shaun. He ran into the elevator, which swayed slightly.

Alarmed, Hob quickly stepped onto the elevator after him. “Hold my hand pal.” Shaun grabbed it and swung Hob’s arm back and forth. Hob was amazed at how strong and energetic the small synth was.

As the elevator descended, Shaun surveyed the marketplace. He spotted a little girl standing on a box selling newspapers. Once the elevator stopped, he immediately let go of Hob’s hand, ran over, and chatted with her excitedly. Hob scrutinized the situation from a distance but didn’t perceive any danger.

“Hey Kellogg,” he asked quietly, gesturing up to the mayor’s office, “what’s the deal with – “

Kellogg rolled his eyes. “Don’t get me started. Thought it could be a courser if you can believe that. It’s one of the earlier third-gens, and it’s already starting to short out. When it inevitably does, and I’m guessing it’s soon, M7 will be kicked to the curb like all the other defectives.”

Hob’s mouth went dry. Defective? Kicked to the curb? He imagined his own lifeless polymer synthetic body lying on the ground outside Diamond City. Hob shuddered. He never wanted that scenario to transpire.

A hand tugged on his sleeve. “Hey Thomas? Um, Uncle Thomas? Nat wants to show me this bloatfly that’s rotting in the water in the lake over there. She said it’s full of maggots. Can I go? Please?”

Hob exchanged a glance with Kellogg, who blinked his assent. “Okay kid, have at it.”

Nat grabbed Shaun’s hand and pointed in the direction of Arturo’s shop Commonwealth Weaponry. “We have to find Nina first. I promised I’d show her.” Their voices faded as they ran off. 

Kellogg grumbled something to himself and rubbed the back of his bald head. “Hey ‘Mister Bayes’ I’m going to my house. That’s where we’ll be staying.” He pointed to a large shack in the abandoned west stands portion of the stadium. “When the kid’s tuckered himself out bring him up there. Don’t let him stay out too late. I’ll never hear the end of it otherwise.”

Hob nodded. He surveyed the shops in the marketplace and listened to the merchants advertising their goods and services: Kathy & John’s Super Salon, Fallon’s Basement, Swatters, the Mega Surgery Center, Chem-I-Care. His gaze fell on a large reactor in the center of the market. He walked up to a shop called Power Noodles, as it said in large neon writing, and ducked under the awning. “Hello,” he said to a Protectron wearing a comically small chef’s hat. 

“Nan-ni shimasu-ka?” 

A woman sitting on a bar stool spoke to Hob. “Just do yourself a favor and say ‘yes’. It’s the only thing Takahashi understands.”

Hob turned to the robot, “Ramen, o kudasai. Arigato.” 

The woman gaped at him, slurped down the rest of her noodles, and hurriedly got up from her stool. 

“Nan-ni shimasu-ka?” The robot waited a few seconds and asked again. “Nan-ni shimasu-ka?” 

“Yes,” said Hob resignedly. The robot placed a bowl in front of him. Hob started to pick up the bowl but the robot tapped the counter repeatedly. 

“Oh sorry. Uh,” he searched through his bag. “How much?”

“Nan-ni shimasu-ka?”

“Right, of course. That amount.” Hob grabbed a fistful of caps and put them down. The Protectron scraped 26 caps into a drawer and resumed stirring a large stew pot full of noodles. Hob picked up the remaining caps, stuffed them in his pocket, and settled onto the stool. 

He broke apart a pair of chopsticks and tasted his first bite of real food. It was heavenly. Warm, chewy razorgrain noodles in a flavorful broth. The surface dwellers approached cooking with more creativity than the synth manning the commissary. Hob made a note to thank Clayton profusely for making a vesture capable of eating and drinking. After slurping down all the broth, Hob patted his stomach, grateful for the sustenance receptacle. He felt satisfied until he heard a woman hawking her wares.

“Synth-free shopping, right here! Shop in safety – no synths allowed at the Surplus!”


	12. The Synthetic Truth

Hob could not resist. He got up and meandered over to a store called Diamond City Surplus. “Hello there,” he said politely, hands clasped behind his back.

Myrna’s eyes grew wide and she took a step back. “You? I don’t know you. Just keep your distance.”

Hob imitated the haughty chuckle he heard from Father when he first awoke. “Forgive me. My name is Thomas Bayes. I just came from a meeting with the mayor. My nephew and I recently arrived in the Commonwealth and we were asking the mayor about any housing available in this fine city.”

Myrna pointed to a nearby building with cement block walls and metal siding. “That one’s available. It’s been vacant for a while.”

Hob looked at the residence, frowning in disdain. “Oh I don’t think so. The mayor characterized me as ‘upper stands material’. I don’t think that dwelling will do.” He made a show of turning around.

“Wait!” shouted Myrna. “I didn’t mean to be rude earlier. You just can’t be too careful these days. Anyone could be a synth. But you do look respectable.” She eyed his hair and clothing. “Okay, we can do business.”

Hob stifled a laugh. “Very well ma’am. Do you have any children’s toys in stock? My nephew was so well behaved on the journey up here. Such exemplary discipline should be rewarded.”

“Let’s see,” said Myrna, rummaging in a bin behind her. “We’ve got different colors of chalk, a kickball, a baseball, plastic rocket ship and rubber alien, wooden car, a Giddyup Buttercup head…” 

“I’ll take them all.”

“Okay, 60 caps for the lot. Wait, uh, I mean 70.” 

Hob handed Myrna the caps and began putting the items into his pack. His fingertips brushed the forgotten holotape sitting at the bottom of the bag. A sudden rush of urgency swept through Hob. “One more question, is there a terminal available for use here? I need to listen to a holotape in private.”

“Well mine’s down for maintenance,” lied Myrna, “but I’m certain Piper has a terminal. She must have one to write that paper of hers. Go check with her. Publick Occurrences is located at the bottom of the ramp. And here, Bayes,” she dug through a file drawer behind her, tossing a newspaper at him, “read this while you’re at it. If you’re going to live here you need to be informed of how dangerous synths can be.” 

Hob took the newspaper, inclined his head in thanks, and walked away. He returned to the building where Shaun met the little girl named Nat. Could he just enter? Was this a business, or someone’s house as well? He knocked on the door but didn’t hear a response. Hob slowly turned the rusty metal handle and poked his head through the door. “Hello? Pardon me, I’m looking for someone named Piper?”

A spunky woman in a red leather jacket bounded down the stairs. She popped a bubble and then kept chewing her gum. “Hey Slim, what can I do ya for?” She playfully punched him on the shoulder.

Hob was totally thrown aback. Slim? Why Slim? This was a completely different vesture than the one Carla saw. Did all wastelanders call people ‘Slim’? He stuttered, “Hello, I’m new in town and the woman at Diamond City Surplus said you have a terminal here? I need to listen to a holotape in private.” 

Piper popped another bubble. She smacked her gum and looked at Hob. “Just gonna blow in here like a cool breeze, ask to use a gal’s terminal, and not even buy her a drink first?” She made a show of flipping her wavy black hair. 

“That’s not, I’m, what?” Hob was having trouble stringing together a coherent thought. 

Before Piper could answer, the door flew open and Nat ran in, flinging water everywhere, followed by Shaun at her heel. “Piiiiiiperrrrr!”

The reporter bent down and grabbed Nat’s shoulders. “Whoa! Slow down there kiddo. Two questions: tell me why you’re soaking wet, and tell me who this kid is?”

“This is my new friend Shaun, we were at the lake with Nina looking at this dead bloatfly, when dumb Sheng Kowalski came over and asked why we were filling his water with dead bugs, and I said we weren’t doing anything, but he didn’t care, so he snuck up behind me and pushed me in the water! Ugggghhhh,” she finished, removing her sopping wet jacket.

Piper bit back a laugh with a cough. “Okay, no worries, we got it under control. Go hook yourself up to that pack of RadAway – no more than a ten minute session. We’ll get you taken care of in no time.” 

As Nat stomped off to her room, Shaun looked up at Hob. “Hey Thomas, did you get anything good at the marketplace?” he asked sweetly, in no way forgetting Father’s promise to buy him toys. 

Hob was still distracted by the whirlwind of water and noise that had just occurred. He blinked and looked down at Shaun, who had a wide toothy grin on his face. “Yes I did, as a matter of a fact. Here.” Hob set down the rolled up paper in his hand and opened his pack. 

“Amazing!” whispered Shaun as Hob began removing toy after toy. “Hey Uncle Thomas, can I share some of these with Nat? To try to cheer her up?”

Piper made a saccharine coo behind them.

Hob smiled. “Of course buddy. They’re gifts for you. You can do whatever you want with them.”

Shaun grabbed the wooden car and the chalk and ran over to Nat. 

Piper spoke to Hob, “Always on good behavior, aren’t ya? So, Tommy boy, never met a fan before. At least not in this town.” 

“Hmm?”

She nodded at the rolled up newspaper sitting on the ground. “Not everyone was pleased about my article ‘The Synthetic Truth’. Especially not McDonough.”

Hob picked up the newspaper and examined it. “Oh forgive me, I haven’t read this yet. The woman at Diamond City Surplus gave it to me.”

Piper laughed. “Ah, Crazy Myrna. I’m all for people taking me seriously, but I think the article backfired with her. Only made her more paranoid. But I’d love your take on it. Basically it’s about a tragedy that occurred here 58 years ago in the year 2229. We call it the Broken Mask Incident. This charming stranger swept into town one day. Everyone instantly loved Mister Carter. The D.C. residents all wanted to drink and laugh and share a joke with him. Then all of a sudden, his cheek twitched and he instantly murdered the bartender in cold blood. For no reason.”

Hob gasped. “He murdered him? That’s terrible!”

“Right? What’s worse, he kept killing indiscriminately until Diamond City Security took care of him. And when they inspected the body, they found that it was full of plastic and metal parts. He was a synth that looked totally indistinguishable from a human. After that day Diamond City knew it could never be truly safe from The Institute. Any one of us could be replaced by a synth at any time.”

Hob shakily sat down on Piper’s couch. So it was true. Everything the Brotherhood of Steel people had said. Synths could massacre whole settlements. Synths could replace people. With a jolt of horror Hob recalled McDonough’s strange behavior. Was the mayor once a real human? How did The Institute replace him? Scribe Haylen’s words came back to Hob: “The Institute is deceitful and dangerous, as are their synths.”

Piper looked down, regretting overwhelming her. She’d already frightened this handsome man before she even got to know him. “I’m sorry Tommy – oh, I mean Thomas. Didn’t mean to freak you out. But the people of the Commonwealth deserve to know the truth.” 

Hob struggled to find words. “Thank you for telling me. I didn’t, I wasn’t aware of this. I’ve heard, uh, rumors about The Institute but I thought they were just, um, exaggerations.” 

“Nope,” replied Piper, flopping down on the couch next to him and crossing her legs. “If this is what we know for sure, then I guarantee that the truth is much worse.” There was an awkward silence as Hob continued to be lost in thought. Piper drummed her fingers on her leg. “So Tommy boy, you said you needed to use my terminal?”

Hob’s mind was racing. He shook himself free of the suspicion ramping up in his head. “What? You know what, I think the holotape can wait. Shaun and I need to get going.”

“Okay,” said Piper, standing up. “No worries. You guys have a room at the Dugout? Actually, you have more of an ‘upper stands’ look to ya.”

“Hmm? No, we’re staying with a friend, Conrad Kellogg.”

Piper’s mood immediately darkened. “Kellogg, eh? Well that’s interesting. I didn’t peg you as someone who cavorted with mercenaries. Nat! It’s time for your friend to go home. Brush your teeth and get ready for bed.”

A groan answered from the other side of the shack.

“Nat, I mean it!”

“Fiiiiine.”

Shaun came back over to Hob. “Are we going now Thomas?” 

Hob nodded. Shaun gave Piper a hug. “Thanks ma’am for letting me play with Nat today. I had so much fun making a friend my age!”

Piper returned the hug. “You’re very welcome. Stay golden kiddo.”

As Hob and Shaun left Publick Occurrences, the boy started chattering about his day and all the neat things he saw. Hob was barely listening. Why had Piper reacted so harshly upon the mention of Kellogg’s name? Father had not said anything about Kellogg beyond merely introducing him, but maybe Piper suspected the mercenary of being a synth. Would Kellogg pull a Mister Carter in the marketplace and suddenly murder everyone? 

After walking up an enormous ramp they arrived at Kellogg’s shack. Hob knocked. “It’s us!”

Kellogg threw open the door, the smell of alcohol on his breath. “It’s a bit late don’t you think? Kid should’ve been in bed already.”

“That’s okay Mister Kellogg. I don’t really need to sleep that much,” said Shaun as he ran up the stairs to the upper floor bedroom. 

Kellogg briefly shut his eyes, pushing down the aggravation that filled him. “I don’t care if you sleep or not, just lower the noise level.”

Shaun whispered-shouted, “Okay!” 

Hob looked at Kellogg, trying to see if he could determine whether or not Kellogg was also a synth. “Do you know when we might return?”

Kellogg stared at Hob, swaying slightly while forcing his eyes to focus. “Got word that the kid’s gonna stay here with me a bit longer. You’ll be heading back now. X6 will relay directly inside my house to escort you.” 

Hob was confused but did not want to press the matter with the merc, who had already slumped down in his worn chair, taking another swig of Gwinnett Stout.

“Uh here, I bought some toys for Shaun. I will leave them with you so he can entertain himself for however long he stays.”

Kellogg grunted in acknowledgment but said nothing.

Hob sat in the desk chair and placed Shaun’s new treasures on the large metal desk. He took the caps out of his pocket and returned them to his pack, and put The Synthetic Truth at the bottom of his bag. He hadn’t yet had a chance to listen to the mysterious holotape. But Hob was increasingly sure he knew what he’d find on it.


	13. Forever, Theoretically

A crack split the air and a blue flash appeared in Kellogg’s house. 

“J9, are you ready to return to The Institute?”

“Wait,” said Kellogg from the little side room. “Take this back to daddy,” he said, smirking. He handed X6 McDonough’s report.

The courser did not acknowledge the insubordination. “Very good sir.” X6-88 spoke to his wrist, “Two, ready for relay.”

The pair reappeared at The Institute’s molecular relay seconds later. “We will follow the same procedure as before,” said X6, ushering Hob into the elevator.

“Got it,” replied Hob, shaking off the weird vibrations of using the relay. After a moment, he decided to ask the courser a nagging question. “X6, why didn’t Shaun return with us?”

“Father wants S9-23 to remain in Diamond City with Kellogg.”

“Do you know why?”

“I do not question Father’s decisions, and I suggest you do not either,” said X6 icily, exiting the elevator. 

Hob nodded. Interacting with the courser made him realize why humans might be afraid of synths. He shivered a little and proceeded alone to the Robotics division. “Hi, Alan, I’m here for the testing.”

Alan Binet turned around from his terminal. “Oh hey Hob. I’m actually not quite ready for you yet. Just need to add one more thing to the next psych test. Why don’t you first head over to BioScience to remove your vesture?”

“Of course,” replied Hob. He tilted his head, studying the synth production process occurring behind Alan. He wondered if he had been created here. After leaving the division, he slowed his walking pace ever so slightly in order to have more time to think.

“I could be dangerous,” thought Hob. “I could end up hurting someone. Who in The Institute could help me? Who is safe?” Alan had been nice to him, but he oversaw the creation of new synths – synths who could be sent to the surface to replace and kill people. Justin didn’t seem very friendly. Maybe he encouraged the coursers to be taciturn as well. Madison was a possibility. Clayton had said that she was fond of the boy Shaun. Clayton was most likely to be a safe person. He had told Hob a lot of information that he probably wasn’t supposed to, information about Father.

Father.

What was his role in all this? Hob’s first sight in this world was Father, his creator. Father was the first person he talked to, who told him all about the inherent violence of all-human societies.

Wait, how old was Father? Hob estimated his age to be somewhere between 62 and 65 years old. Piper had said the Broken Mask Incident occurred 58 years ago. Hob breathed a sigh of relief. There was absolutely no way Father could have been involved in that. He would have been a young child when the Mister Carter episode happened. 

Hob entered the BioScience division, pleased that he could at least trust both Clayton and Father. He was jerked out his thoughts by a loud bark. An enormous German Shepherd ran over to Hob and began sniffing his shoes excitedly.

“Whoa, Dogmeat, get back here boy!” Clayton came jogging over. “Sorry about that, Hob. Dogmeat heard you coming before I did and he needed to investigate the new person.”

Hob bent down and stroked the dog’s thick fur. “This dog is beautiful,” he said appreciatively.

“Thanks bud. We’re real proud of him here. Your advice was spot-on. All the residents’ kids love him. They keep making excuses to come in here and rub his belly.” Clayton’s voice got high-pitched and silly. “We love to rub his big baby belly, yes we do!” Dogmeat sprawled out on the floor, wagging his tail and happily accepting the human’s wiggling fingers.

Hob laughed at the sight. “What kind of dog is he?”

“A pre-war breed called a German Shepherd. They’re nice and big, used to protect family homes and farm animals. Thought that would be perfect here since you said the synth animal should be capable of defense.” 

Hob scratched behind Dogmeat’s ears, thinking. “Does this mean he could be dangerous?”

“Well that is kind of the point. For example, if you had come in here, rushed up to me, and started shouting I bet Dogmeat would’ve gotten in between us. Might have even bitten your arm to keep me safe. Some German Shepherds were used by pre-war militaries as guard dogs. So yeah, I think he could get quite vicious if need be.” 

Hob stood up slowly so as not to alarm Dogmeat. “Can you help me remove this vesture?”

“Oh yeah, yeah. I should’ve known that’s why you were here. Same questions as before – how did it work out? Any complaints?” 

“It worked out wonderfully,” said Hob, peeling down the squelching vesture. “The sustenance receptacle is astonishing. A highly useful addition to the vesture.”

“I can tell you used it. Noodles?” asked Clayton, holding up the vesture and wiggling it, causing Takahashi’s specialty to slosh around. 

Hob laughed in its authentic, mechanical voice, “Yes they were very tasty. Though I’m pretty sure the robot that sold them to me is malfunctioning. He kept repeating the same phrase in Japanese.”

“I’m glad the noodles were tasty, but right now they’re getting flushed down the toilet.” Clayton made a face and left the room for a moment.

In his absence, Hob decided now was the time to ask Clayton a question. But how to phrase it?

Clayton returned fairly quickly. “Well that was pretty gross. Might need to add a dissolving agent next time so things don’t stay so…solid.”

“Clayton, am I dangerous?” Hob blurted out. 

“Where’d this come from?” asked Clayton, taken aback.

“You said Dogmeat might hurt people, and he is a synth, and I am synth. So might I end up hurting people the way the dog could?” it finished hastily.

Clayton tread carefully, imagining Father was in the room with him. “Well there’s always a possibility. For instance, if Lawrence Higgs came in right now and locked the door, waved a laser pistol around, and threatened to kill me, what would you do?”

Hob thought for a moment. “I would try to remove the weapon from his possession so he could not harm anyone in BioScience.” 

“See, you didn’t say you wanted to kill him – just protect others and diffuse the situation. Without getting into too much detail, that’s what we – namely Alan – programmed you to do. You’re designed to protect life, but situations always differ. So you instinctively know how to come up with creative solutions to carry out this protection without harming anyone in the process.”

“But when I was with Trashcan Carla, I killed the super mutants’ dog.”

“Your programming has to be able to rank different types of life in order to make the most intelligent decision in any given scenario. A dog’s life doesn’t rank as high as a human’s life. You were on the surface traveling with a human, so your program ensured that you’d protect her.”

“It’s ironic that she had to tell me what to do.”

Clayton laughed, “Yeah, it’s a learning curve for sure. But that’s why we sent you up there. You have to get real life experience somehow in order to test your programming and suss out any bugs.”

Hob apologized, “I’m sorry Clayton. I’m not sure what came over me. It’s good to know I won’t harm humans.”

“No worries bud. Hey, while you’re here can I show you the next vesture?” Clayton pulled an unusual skin suit off the rack and held it up to show Hob.

Its eyes widened in alarm and it backed away slowly. “You want me to be a feral ghoul? I don’t know if I like that. What if someone thinks I’m a threat and shoots me?”

“Huh? What? No. This is a regular ghoul vesture, not a feral ghoul one.” Clayton pointed at the face part. “See the eyes? They show emotion and intelligence. Ferals are kind of…checked out mentally. But regular ghouls can still think and reason just fine.” 

“Where would I go looking like this?” asked Hob, taking the vesture from Clayton and holding it up to inspect it. “The people of Diamond City are kind of paranoid about strange outsiders.”

“Oh shoot, I’m sorry. Has Father not told you about the next mission?”

“Upon returning with X6 I went straight to Robotics, but Alan wasn’t ready for me yet and he sent me here.”

“I see. There’s no harm in explaining it now. You’re set to go to a town called Goodneighbor. It’s the second largest settlement in the Commonwealth after Diamond City. But the catch is that unlike D.C., Goodneighbor is home to a bunch of ghouls. Do you know what a regular ghoul is?”

Hob looked up at the ceiling, thinking. “I guess not.”

“When the bombs dropped two hundred years ago, the majority of people on the surface died, either from direct impact or from food shortages. But some people survived. For many survivors, the radiation changed their bodies. It burned away their hair and stripped off their nails and sloughed off the outer layer of their skin. Even though they became ghoulified, this physical change came with a benefit. They don’t have to eat, drink, or sleep. Many still do out of habit, but I would think after two hundred years food gets kinda boring.”

“Synths do not require food or sleep either. Am I like a ghoul?”

He hummed, thinking. “Yeah, sorta. But ghouls were born as regular pre-war people who became immortal through extreme radiation. Obviously if you shoot one in the head it’ll die. But if that doesn’t happen then they can live forever, theoretically.” 

Hob’s jaw dropped. “But humans are not designed to live forever.”

“Tell me about it. Human lifespan is a controversial topic here in The Institute. How much should we intervene for someone who’s dying? A lot of people are jealous of Kellogg’s cybernetic implants. We only put those in a select few.”

Hob blinked in confusion. “Kellogg is not a synth?”

Clayton laughed, “No, but I can see why you assumed that. He’s, pfft, let me see here, almost a hundred years old? Over 100? I can’t remember exactly. Apparently living longer has made him real cranky and kind of unpredictable.” 

“He was well behaved in Diamond City,” said Hob, editing out the part where Piper seemed afraid of Kellogg.

Clayton frowned. “Well that is unusual. Maybe it’s because S9 was with you. But anyway, yeah your next starring role is as a Goodneighbor ghoul.”

“How am I supposed to wear this vesture and interact with ghouls if I don’t have any knowledge about the last two centuries? Or about life before the war?”

“Um,” Clayton pursed his lips and put a hand on his hip. “That’s a dang good question. Thank goodness you have your head screwed on straight. I tell you what, why don’t you head up to my room? It’s on the top floor of the commissary tower. Log on to my terminal and use the research function to access The Institute’s records. Start around the year 2050 or so. Read from the Resource Wars onward.” 

Hob’s ears perked up at the word ‘terminal’. It walked over to its pack sitting on the ground. “Thank you Clayton. Also, I need to check in with the requisition synth before I forget.”

“Got it,” said Clayton, picking up a clipboard and walking back over to Dogmeat. “Time for some more doggy woggy tests! I wonder who’s a good boy! I bet Dogmeat is the good boy!”


	14. Conflicting Ideologies

Hob left BioScience and hurried to the requisition synth. It dumped the leftover caps on the counter, signed the synth’s clipboard, and continued up to Clayton’s room. It removed the holotape from the pack, inserted it into the terminal, and turned up the volume. A woman’s stern voice played:

“Wake up, Commonwealth. Synths are not your enemy. They are victims in this war, as well. True, they were created by The Institute. But they were created as slaves. Thinking, feeling, and dreaming beings utterly oppressed by their tyrannical masters. So join with us in fighting the real enemy: The Institute. Join the Railroad. When you’re ready for that next step, don’t worry, we’ll find you.” 

Hob stared in shock. It quickly ejected the holotape from the terminal and looked around, trying to figure out where to stash the holo. It went to Clayton’s bathroom, opened the trash can, and stuffed the holotape in an empty Mentats box. 

Sitting back down in the desk chair, Hob held its head in its hands. “Dangerous, not dangerous. Enemy, not an enemy.” The thoughts ping-ponged around inside Hob’s head. “What in the hell am I then?” Hob thought angrily. “A slave apparently.”

Hob didn’t feel like a slave. It walked around The Institute when it needed to. It had conversations as equals with Institute scientists. It asked Father about going to Diamond City and the request was granted. How could Hob be a slave?

But the Railroad woman seemed to think synths were slaves. She also said synths had thoughts and feelings. Hob agreed that it had thoughts and feelings. But it didn’t need to sleep. None of the synths did. So how could Hob be a dreaming being? 

Maybe the Railroad woman meant dreams to mean ‘desires’. Father had described humans as matter in motion – material beings with appetites and desires. If the Railroad was correct, then synths were also material beings with appetites and desires. And if synths had desires, then couldn’t they be considered…humans? 

Hob’s head reeled. That just couldn’t be right. The logic was wrong. It looked like a synth. The Institute created synths and they had told Hob it was a synth. Therefore, it was a synth. Designation J9-39.

But Father had asked it for a name. Where had ‘Hob’ come from? It searched its memory files but found nothing relevant. 

Hob sat for a while, pondering the existential conundrum of being a synth but suddenly feeling like a human, when it remembered with a jolt what it was actually supposed to be doing: learning about the history of the humans in order to fit in with the immortal Goodneighbor ghouls.

It logged on to Clayton Holdren’s terminal and searched for the term “Resource Wars.” Hob read in horror about the humans’ battles over petroleum. The European Commonwealth invaded the Middle East for oil, and the U.S. did the same thing to Mexico. China invaded Anchorage in order to take control of American oil reserves. To gain a military edge, the Chinese used biological weapons. Americans tried to counter these with research into FEV, the Forced Evolutionary Virus that could create an army of super-soldiers. The U.S. also pushed the creation of power armor, which depended on nuclear fusion. This energy source was more efficient than petroleum, but unfortunately required vast quantities of uranium. One scarce resource traded for another.

As the war dragged on, the president and a handful of American oligarchs abandoned the citizens, choosing to bunker down in a Poseidon Energy oil rig off the coast of California. These people formed a shadow government that officially designated the rig as Control Station Enclave. A postscript added 60 years ago by user “Kellogg.C” mentioned a territory called the New California Republic.

All around the globe, people lived in constant fear that war would result in nuclear holocaust. The American government assuaged this fear by contracting a private company called Vault-Tec to build underground bunkers called vaults that would keep the American population safe. Unfortunately, most vaults were not designed to preserve life from nuclear fallout. Instead, vault residents were subjected to biological and sociological experiments. 

The “Atomic Ultimatum” was answered on October 23, 2077. Most humans were not able to find safety. The Great War brought a sudden end to billions of lives. 

Hob could not read any more. It felt sick, like when it saw the feral ghoul tear out a raider’s throat in College Square. 

Before reading this human history, Hob felt reasonably confident that it knew what humans were like. After all, Father had explained human nature. But now it finally understood what he meant. Humans had a greedy appetite for energy, and succumbed to their basest desire to kill when they didn’t get what they wanted. The only thing every single human actually feared was a violent death. This was the true motivation that formed the core of humanity. 

Hob thought back to Piper’s explanation of the Broken Mask Incident. When the synth Mister Carter killed random citizens of Diamond City they became afraid, both of synths and of The Institute. 

It finally dawned on Hob – that was the goal. The point. Fear was both the means and the end. 

By being afraid, the residents of Diamond City were more likely to make sacrifices in order to find a way to feel safe. As long as everyone made these sacrifices, they could all live together, governed by – 

The mayor. Of course. The Institute controlled McDonough, therefore The Institute controlled Diamond City. It made perfect sense.

Hob thought for a moment. Father was right. Humanity could live forever in harmony, as long as synths were present to diffuse situations and keep the peace. Without a synth presence, humans would give in to temptation and kill each other over their conflicting desires. Interference from The Institute was the only chance at stopping the world above from being so violent. 

How had Carla described it? “Life in the wasteland is nasty, brutish, and short. The only chance any of us has at a better world lies with The Institute.”

Hob shook its head in disbelief. She was right. And maybe the Railroad woman was right too. The Institute was a tyrannical master, secretly controlling surface dwellers. But maybe that was the path to peace.


	15. The Leviathan

“Hello?”

Hob turned around. A young blond man was standing in the doorway of Clayton’s quarters.

“Hob? My dad sent me to find you in BioScience, but Clayton told me he sent you up here.”

“Your dad?” blinked Hob, trying to return to the present.

“Oh I’m sorry. The name’s Liam. Liam Binet. My dad Alan runs Robotics and he said you needed to take a test or something?”

Hob stood up, forgetting its pack on the ground underneath Clayton’s desk. “Yes I do. It was nice to meet you, Liam. Thank you for taking the time to come find me.”

Liam smiled, “It’s no trouble at all. I’ve never actually been introduced to you before, so the pleasure’s all mine.” 

Hob frowned slightly at Liam’s decorum, suspicious of its artifice. He headed out the room and down to Robotics. Father stood next to Alan at the terminal.

“Another successful trip I see?” said Father, waving Hob over. 

“It was fairly pleasant,” replied Hob, thinking of how much Shaun enjoyed Diamond City. 

“Okay Hob, it’s time for your test,” said Alan, pulling up a file on the terminal. “It’ll be a different format from last time. Instead of questions, I’m going to show you a series of images. After you see the image, as quickly as possible state the first word that you associate with that image.” 

Hob moved in front of the terminal and Alan readied a clipboard.

He began, “First image: Nuka Cola caps.”

“Purchase.”

Alan wrote down Hob’s response and clicked to the next picture. “Second image: wooden shack.”

“Settlement.”

“Third image: Brahmin.”

Hob thought for a moment. “Trade.”

“Fourth image: bowl of noodles.”

“Tasty,” said Hob, smiling. 

“Fifth image: power armor.”

“Anchorage.”

Alan glanced quickly at Father and then continued. “Sixth and final image: Mayor McDonough.”

“Defective.” Hob gasped. “Oh wait! I meant to say synth.”

“The first response is what we will record,” said Father, sounding official. “Though out of curiosity, why did you feel the need to change your answer?”

Hob stuttered, “I don’t think he’s defective. That’s not my assessment of him. Kellogg used that word and it got into my head. But I believe M7 should definitely remain the mayor of Diamond City. Please don’t remove him.” 

Father tried to keep the anger off of his face. “Did Kellogg imply that we are going to remove M7?”

“He said that M7 is starting to short out, and when that happens you will kick him to the curb like all the other defectives. Father, is this the plan? How can you influence the residents of Diamond City if M7 is gone?”

Alan interrupted, “Whoa! Slow down. Influence residents? Where exactly did you get that idea? Did McDonough say this, or Kellogg?”

“No, I,” Hob doubted whether it should continue. But it wanted to impress Father. “It seemed logical based on what you have explained to me. The caravan informants tell you about the open areas of the wasteland, and the settlement informants tell you about more densely populated areas. The watcher crows can go in between. That way Institute residents can be safe down here but you still know what happens on the surface. However, what usually happens on the surface is violence and fear. So if you control someone like the mayor of Diamond City, then you can control what the people of Diamond City think they should fear. Maybe you want them to fear The Institute, the same way a ship heads to safety because sailors fear what lurks beneath,” finished Hob. “If that makes sense.”

Father sat down in the desk chair near the terminal. “Hob you are extraordinary,” he whispered. “I told you before you went to the surface that you can’t disappoint me. And I was right. Within the space of a week you have come to understand the nature of humanity in a way that even the humans here in The Institute have not. I am so proud of you.”

Hob beamed at Father. 

Alan Binet quietly mumbled to himself, “I helped too.” 

“From this moment on,” declared Father, “I want you to attend the Directorate meetings. We should convene anyway before your next mission to the surface.”

“To Goodneighbor,” added Hob helpfully. “Clayton told me. He also had me research twenty-first century history so I could make a more realistic ghoul – a regular one, not a feral one.” 

“Very proactive. Good thinking. Before long you’ll practically be running The Institute!”

Alan squawked behind him.

“It was a joke, Alan. I do make those you know,” said Father, shaking his head. “Anyway, let’s assemble the division heads to go over the plans for Goodneighbor. I think it’s finally time to tell you the greater purpose of your surface missions.”


	16. Douglas and Susan Calvin

In the board room, Justin Ayo asked Father for the third time if telling Hob the grand plan was a good idea. 

“Justin, do you I need to remind you which one of us is in charge of Institute objectives?”

The acting head of the SRB huffed but said nothing. 

Father turned to Hob. “Now then, the time has come for you to know absolutely everything,” he lied. “First of all, do you know what a vault is?”

Hob recalled the research it conducted on Clayton’s terminal. “Yes, it is an underground bunker built by a private company called Vault-Tec. The bunkers were designed to preserve human life from nuclear fallout. In reality the vaults were primarily sites of human experimentation rather than human protection.” It hesitated but added, “Vault-Tec was a dishonest corporation.” 

Madison laughed hollowly. 

Clayton whistled. “Hob you sure are a fast learner.”

“Thank you Clayton,” smiled Hob.

Father asked, “In your research did you come across information about Vault 111?”

“No, I don’t believe so.” 

“I would hope not given that those files are classified down here,” grumbled Justin.

Father ignored him and continued explaining, “Vault 111 was built into the hills northwest of Concord. As you correctly stated, vaults were the site of scientific experiments. Vault 111 was designed to test unwitting humans’ ability to withstand long-term cryogenic stasis.”

Before doing research on Clayton’s terminal, this fact would have surprised Hob. But now, it did not visibly react to this unscrupulous experiment design.

“Because of the vault’s location, Vault-Tec found test subjects from the surrounding neighborhoods stretching southeast into Concord. On the morning of October 23, 2077, the day the bombs dropped, the people who had already signed up sought shelter in the vaults. Many of those who successfully reached Vault 111 before the bombs hit Boston came from a community called Sanctuary Hills. Inside, the Vault-Tec scientists placed the subjects into cryo-pods. They were meant to be in suspended animation for a period of 180 days. However, conflict arose within the Vault 111 scientific community. Most of the employees left the vault, abandoning the vulnerable people in cryogenic stasis.”

Shaun paused, feeling a small lump rising in his throat. “Alan, can you please continue for me?”

Alan rubbed his face awkwardly and turned to Hob. “Ultimately, the subjects were stuck there for 150 years. In 2227 one of our synth scavenger teams discovered the location of Vault 111. The Institute sent a team of scientists to rescue any survivors from the cryo-pods. Upon arriving they only discovered two functioning pods. One contained a woman, and one contained a man holding a baby.”

This was too much for Hob. “Vault-Tec experimented on an infant, despite its inability to consent? That is despicable.”

Clayton coughed uncomfortably and gave Father a look.

“The man and woman were named Douglas and Susan Calvin. And the infant,” Father paused, clearing his throat, “was me.”

Hob closed its eyes to think, trying to reconcile everything it just heard. “Father, you, uhh – “ It didn’t know how to continue. “You are…you were born before The Great War? Like a ghoul?”

“Indeed. Born into a world that was free of radiation and nuclear fallout. Instead of having to grow up in the wasteland, I was saved from that terrible fate and brought to the safety of The Institute.”

“But how, I mean, what happened to your parents? Where are Douglas and Susan?” stuttered Hob. 

Father struggled to speak calmly. “There was a bit of a mix-up when The Institute retrieved me. According to our records, the extraction team noticed that the pods containing my parents were leaking lethal coolant. They were unable to save my parents as well without endangering my life. They left them in the pods in order to bring me down here, safe and sound. That is the version in the official report. However,” he snarled, “Kellogg recently explained to me that he lied on this report.” Father pounded his fist on the table, causing everyone to jump.

“Kellogg?” asked Hob, surprised to hear this name. “Why was Kellogg involved?”

“Kellogg was and is The Institute’s primary above-ground operative. He is a ruthless mercenary, and he found a way to use violence even on the Vault 111 retrieval mission. Everyone in those pods was alive, but Kellogg disabled certain controls, intentionally killing everyone besides my parents. My father Douglas was holding me in the cryo-pod. When Kellogg unsealed the pod my father was understandably disoriented, but he became difficult and irate. In response,” shuddered Shaun, “Kellogg shot my father in the head and pulled me from his arms. He left my parents in their pods, bribed the rest of the team to keep quiet, and lied on the report.” 

Allie Filmore patted Shaun’s shoulder sympathetically. Hob walked over to Father and imitated Allie’s gesture. “Father, I am very sorry your parents died,” said Hob, continuing to pat Shaun’s shoulder. 

Father turned to look at Hob. “My father Douglas is indeed dead. However, X6-88 recently visited Vault 111 for me. Though most of the residents are dead, the cryo controls themselves are still functioning. My mother Susan is alive, frozen in suspended animation.” Father took Hob’s hand in his, “Hob, when you’re ready, you will go to Vault 111 and unfreeze my mother.” 

“Why didn’t X6 unfreeze her and bring her here upon discovering that she is alive?”

“Are you questioning Father’s orders?” asked Justin, aghast.

“Justin, please. It’s fine. Hob, do you remember how little you understood the world before visiting the surface? Do you remember how different you felt after seeing the violence above ground?”

“I was naïve,” said Hob. “I did not appreciate how civilized and clean the residents of The Institute are.”

“Exactly,” said Father. “Now, imagine that my mother will be having a very similar experience to yours. If we woke her up from stasis and brought her straight here, she would have no idea how cruel raiders can be, how aggressive super mutants are. All Susan remembers is the world before the war. She only knows a Boston full of smiling people and beautiful architecture. No amount of explaining the current state of the surface is any match for encountering it firsthand. Susan needs to face these problems and discover that those obstacles are not insurmountable.”

“That reminds me of what Madison said before my first visit,” said Hob, looking over at the scientist. “She said the surface is unforgiving, especially for a new kid like me. That’s why I needed a weapon.”

Madison raised her eyebrows in surprise. “I’m glad you understand now,” she said, acknowledging Hob’s growth.

“After I unfreeze Susan, how long should I wait before bringing her here?”

“Ah, now this is where your upcoming visit to Goodneighbor comes into play. I don’t want my mother to wander the wastes alone. She will surely die. Humans have many flaws, chief among them being that they need each other to survive,” grumbled Father. “What Susan needs is a support group of sorts. Through the watchers, we have discovered that there is a group of settlers who survived an attack on their settlement in Quincy. They are making their way through Boston in search of a peaceful place to make a new home. Currently they are about to make a stop in Goodneighbor. Your objective is to make sure they continue on to Sanctuary Hills and settle there. That way, when you release my mother from cryo-stasis and she inevitably returns to her old neighborhood, there will already be experienced but helpful wastelanders living there. They can show her how to take the next steps. I assume she will want to find me, but I cannot be sure.”

Hob thought for a moment, “How exactly am I supposed to make these humans proceed to Sanctuary Hills?”

Justin grumbled something about insubordination.

Father tilted his head and peered at Hob. “We are going to leave that up to you. Alan and I have decided that based on your psych test results, your creative problem-solving abilities are outstanding. In Goodneighbor you will be given free rein to determine how to convince the settlers to head to Sanctuary. Just make it happen.”

“What if I have an idea that is controversial and requires your approval, Father?”

“We have two informants who reside in Goodneighbor. Lamentably, they are both chem dealers. One is named A.J., the other is named Marowski. If you need to convey information to us, meet with either of them and they will pass it along. The molecular relay will insert you at a nearby location where you will rendezvous with A.J. From there he will escort you into Goodneighbor.” 

“Is there anything else I need to know?”

Allie interjected, “If you hear about anyone discussing or looking for a pre-war energy source, feel free to pass that information along as well.” She tried to sound casual but the tremble in her voice betrayed her.

“Is The Institute having energy problems?” asked Hob, alarmed. It recalled the horrors caused by the Resource Wars.

“Nope. No problems,” said Madison, glaring at Allie. “We’re just planning ahead.”

“I see. If I hear anything I will be sure to let you know.” Hob walked over to Clayton. “I believe it’s time to assist me in putting on the ghoul vesture so I may depart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The name of the sole survivor - Susan Calvin - is a nod to the great Isaac Asimov character, who is a grumpy old lady much like myself.


	17. The Truth Revealed

In BioScience, Clayton finished stimpak lasering the ghoul suit together. “I’d be real interested to know how this one feels to you, given how different it is from the human vestures.”

Hob touched his skin and felt a little shiver. “All these grooves are so sensitive!” he remarked, dragging his nail-less fingers up and down his arm. “Oh!” he paused. “Is that what my voice sounds like? It’s so raspy and deep.”

Clayton laughed, “Yeah you sound like you’ve been smoking cigarettes for the past 200 years. Maybe this guy did, I’m not sure. What’s his name – Jim? Tim?”

Hob frowned, a lump growing in his throat. He spoke hesitantly, “What do you mean ‘this guy’?”

“This ghoul fella. I can’t remember exactly where we acquired him. I think near the ghoul farm with the tarberries? The raiders at the old Ironworks kidnap and kill a lot of people near there.”

Hob felt lightheaded. A slow-moving dark circle appeared in front of his eyes. Like a tunnel, it tightened until all Hob saw was black. 

“Hob! Hey Hob! Wake up buddy. You feeling all right?” Clayton was leaning over Hob, fanning his face with a clipboard. Hob sat up, still feeling woozy. 

“There you go, take it easy. Nice and slow.” Clayton helped Hob get to his feet. “What happened? I wonder if I overtightened the vesture. Never done a ghoul before, maybe something in their physiology,” mused Clayton as he poked at one of the seams. 

Hob interrupted, “Clayton, I want you to tell me the truth right now.” Clayton stopped abruptly, dismayed at Hob’s tone. “Is this vesture,” Hob’s mouth turned dry. He tried to swallow and continued, “Is this vesture made from the body of a real person?”

Clayton shrugged casually. “Well, yeah. I thought it was obvious.”

Hob squeezed his eyes shut tightly and opened them again. “The Institute is advancing research on synthetics. Why isn’t this humanskin suit” – he gagged – “made from artificial means?”

Clayton struggled to understand why Hob was so upset. “You’ve been up there, bud. People die all the time. Their bodies rot in the streets. The river is full of floating corpses. At least this way they can be of use to living people. It’s like they’ve donated their bodies to science instead of just becoming food for mole rats. Besides, synthetic ghouls are a bit beyond our abilities at the moment.”

Hob looked around the circular room at the racks filled with hangers. Each vesture had been a person. A thinking, feeling, dreaming being. Hob shuddered involuntarily. He walked over to the mirror and examined his reflection. These were someone else’s cheeks. Someone else’s mouth and ears. Hob realized with a jolt that he was viewing himself through someone else’s eyes.

He looked back at Clayton. “Do you promise that they all died naturally? Or as naturally as you can in the wasteland?”

“Yes, absolutely,” lied Clayton. 

“You’re certain The Institute had no part in their deaths? These humans did not die just so a synth could wear them like clothing above ground?”

Clayton lied again, “Of course.” 

Hob thought for a bit, breathing hard. “Okay,” he said slowly. “Fine. I will wear this vest-” He stopped. “I will wear this person,” he emphasized, “on the Goodneighbor mission. But when that mission is complete and I return here to The Institute, Father and I are going to have a discussion. A very long discussion about how human lives rank higher than synth lives.” 

Clayton nodded slowly. “Sure thing pal.”

“Okay,” Hob said again, trying to slow his breathing. “Okay. I am going to get dressed now. I don’t need any help,” he said preemptively, pulling up his jeans.

Clayton held up his hands as a gesture of good will. “No worries. I can see you got it.” He walked over to the chair and tentatively picked something up. “By the way,” said Clayton quietly, “You left your pack in my quarters. I brought it down here for you.”

“Hmm,” replied Hob. He adjusted the dirty white undershirt before throwing on a worn black leather jacket. He examined his appearance in the mirror. For a split second, he thought he looked like Kellogg. Hob tried to shake off that comparison and picked up his bag. 

“Good luck bud,” said Clayton timidly. 

Hob grunted in acknowledgment, left BioScience, and headed directly to the molecular relay.


	18. The Needs of the Many

Hob had never relayed directly inside a building before. His sudden appearance among the old, rotting books kicked up a cloud of dust, causing him to have a coughing fit. He opened his pack in search of something to drink. As he rummaged, he realized that in his haste to leave BioScience, he had completely forgotten to see the requisition synth. Hob had no supplies and no caps. 

He stuck his hand in the pack and searched again. It also appeared that his copy of The Synthetic Truth was missing. “Must’ve been Clayton nosing through my stuff,” he thought. Hob removed his trusty incendiary laser rifle from his bag and walked to the door of the bookstore. He slowly opened it and poked his head out into the night. 

A feral ghoul sleeping nearby under a pile of rubble woke up with a start and eyed Hob through the darkness. He barely breathed while it sniffed the air and groaned loudly. To his surprise, it determined Hob was not a threat. It grunted and went back to sleep on the rubble pile.

Hob was terrified but confused. He withdrew his head into the bookstore and closed the door. “That ghoul was completely unafraid of me,” thought Hob, baffled by what had just transpired. “Maybe ghouls can smell each other?” He sniffed the air. “All I can smell is musty old books, and just barely.” 

There was a sudden commotion outside. Hob heard a growl and several rapid rat-a-tat-tat sounds. Then there was silence. The handle of the bookstore door turned and Hob gripped his rifle tightly. 

“Hey, you the guy I’m supposed to meet?” asked a large man with a nasally voice. His eyes scanned Hob’s face. “Whoa, sorry, wrong guy. Never mind.” He started to back out of the building. 

“Wait, are you A.J.?” asked Hob.

“Aw jeez, they can do ghouls now?” he muttered. “Yeah A.J.’s my name, don’t wear it out. Who are you?”

“The name’s, um, Hob,” he stuttered. His hasty retreat had pushed aside all thoughts of coming up with an alias and backstory.

“Hob? That’s kinda weird. Eh, no matter. Let’s get going. I’ll show you the entrance to Goodneighbor.”

Hob followed the chem dealer out of the bookstore. A.J. stepped over the scattered remains of the friendly feral and climbed up the rubble pile to a fallen lamppost. He walked carefully across a rusted tractor trailer and hopped down. Hob followed, nearly landing on the limp body of a feral mongrel. He made a noise of disgust and A.J. laughed.

“What, you squeamish or something?”

“Nah,” replied Hob. “I’ve only ever seen a mutant hound up close. Never one of these.”

“Weird,” remarked A.J., frowning. He continued past a wooden sign that said “All Are Welcome” and walked up to the Goodneighbor gate. “Well I gotta go see a man about a horse, so I’ll let you take it from here. Marowski’s in the Rexford if you need him.”

As A.J. walked off and began unzipping his pants, Hob puzzled over what that series of words could mean. Who had a horse? Did horses still exist? Why did A.J. need to see somebody about one?

He unlatched the Goodneighbor gate and pushed through. Hob found himself in the middle of a huge group of people crowding the entry area. Through a gap in the crowd he saw two familiar faces – Wolfgang and Simone, the chem dealers who had been harassing Trudy and Patrick. Standing next to them was a bald man Hob didn’t recognize.

“Please, sir, be reasonable. We don’t have very many caps and we can’t afford to buy any insurance. We’d just like spend the night here. We’ll be gone in the morning,” pleaded a tall black man. He had a long scar down the left side of his face and he was wearing an Australian-style cowboy hat. 

“Please, sir, be reasonable!” mocked Wolfgang. The bald man next to him was shaking with laughter. 

Hob was overtaken with fury. He had mistakenly assumed Wolfgang had learned a lesson about hassling people. But once again, humans had let him down. Hob pushed through the people standing in front of him. 

“Hey Wolfgang!” snarled Hob.

Wolfgang frowned. “Yeah? Do I know you pal?”

Hob paused, “Nope.” He raised his rifle and shot Wolfgang square in the chest. The man instantly collapsed to the ground, smoke rising from where his heart used to be.

“Jesus Christ!” shouted the bald man, eyes wide. “Hey Simone, let’s get this bastard!”

“Stop right now!” bellowed a raspy voice behind them. The bald man and Simone froze. A skinny ghoul marched up to the group. “What the hell is going on in my town?”

The people around Hob shifted uncomfortably. The bald man looked at the ground and tried not to make eye contact. 

Hob cleared his throat and spoke up. “Wolfgang was harassing these people, mocking them for needing shelter. I can’t stand for this. If you have to punish me, that’s fine. But I cannot abide people behaving like animals.” He stood tall. 

The ghoul walked up to Hob. Unlike Hob, his eyes were completely black. He stared up into Hob’s eyes, practically boring a hole through his head. The ghoul broke into laughter and slapped Hob on the back. “I like you already! Walk into a new place, make a show of dominance. Now that’s how you make an entrance.”

Hob looked down at the skinny ghoul. Carla and Piper’s friendly jabbing popped into his head. “Thanks, Slim,” he replied, slapping the ghoul on the back. 

He howled even harder. The ghoul grabbed Hob’s hand and shook it hard. “Hey, the name’s Hancock. I’m the mayor in these parts, and don’t you forget it baby. Now, as to the matter at hand – Fahr!” he shouted.

A scowling redhead slunk over. “Yeah boss?”

“This guy telling the truth? Was there some mockery afoot in my town?”

“Just like the little pawn said. Wolfgang, Finn, and Simone weren’t acting very ‘Goodneighborly’ to these folks here.”

Hancock shook his head. “A whole crock of mockery. You two,” he gestured at Finn and Simone, “need a little timeout. When you can remember how to play nice with the other kiddies, Fahrenheit will let you out.”

Two neighborhood watch ghouls came over and grabbed the chem dealers before they could protest. Fahrenheit followed them through the door of a nearby brick building. 

The man in the cowboy hat coughed politely. “Pardon me, Mayor Hancock sir? My name’s Preston Garvey, Commonwealth Minutemen.” Hancock raised a hairless eyebrow but said nothing. Preston continued, “My fellow settlers and I survived a brutal attack in Quincy. Most of our settlement was wiped out by Gunners. We’re on our way north, but we just need to stop and rest for a day, maybe two. There are a few elderly members who can’t keep up with a quick pace.” A tiny woman standing behind Preston tutted loudly, but he ignored her. “Do you we have your permission? We understand if the answer is no.” 

“Don’t worry pal. Goodneighbor is of the people, for the people, ya feel me?”

Preston frowned. “I feel you,” he said awkwardly.

“Well all right. Get your asses in here then.” Hancock waved the group in and gestured in different directions. “Daisy’s got the goods, KL-E-0’s got the ammo, Charlie in the Third Rail’s got the liquor. See Clair at the Rexford for a mostly clean mattress. Stay as long as you want, and don’t be afraid to spend those caps!”

As the crowd of settlers slowly dispersed, Hob watched them walk off but continued standing next to his second kill. Hancock walked up to him. “I take it those aren’t your people?”

Hob shook his head slightly. “They required help. That makes them my people. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.” 

Hancock nodded appreciatively. “A noble mantra.”

Hob nudged Wolfgang’s body with his toe. “I already had a run-in with Wolfgang and Simone. It’s not my fault they decided to squander the one chance I gave them.” 

Hancock guffawed. “You’re okay brother.” He grabbed Hob, grinding his knuckles on the top of his head.

Hob wrestled away. “Ouch! What did you do that for?” he asked, scandalized. 

The mayor laughed even harder, “I like you man. We need more ghouls like you around here. By the way, here we are giggling like a couple of schoolboys and I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s Hob,” replied the synth, rubbing the top of his head. 

“Hob? Hob Hob Hob,” said Hancock, smacking his lips together hard. “It’s got a nice ring to it. Hob.” He reached a hand into his pocket and pulled out a red inhaler. The mayor took a long puff of Jet and exhaled slowly, “Hhhhooobbb.” He closed his eyes.

For a moment Hob wondered if Hancock had fallen asleep standing up. The mayor’s eyes snapped open. “So! Anything I can do for the dashing man of the hour?”

Hob was alarmed by the sudden burst of energy. “Uh, I’m trying to find the Rexford?” 

Hancock clapped his hand around Hob’s shoulder and led him forward. “Finest hotel in Goodneighbor! Only hotel in Goodneighbor. Owned by Marowski. But don’t let that dissuade you. Matter of fact, I’ll get you a room there for the night. On the house. My way of saying thank you for livening up my evening.”

“Oh thank you sir, that’s very kind.”

“What is this ‘sir’ business? Are you trying to butter my biscuit? Nah I’m just joking,” said the mayor, jiggling Hob’s shoulders. 

Hob blinked rapidly, trying to keep up with Hancock’s jovial teasing.

“So I’m guessing this is your first time in Goodneighbor?” 

“That obvious?” replied Hob.

Hancock laughed, “No worries. I’ll give you the grand tour. On your left you’ll see the Old State House. Those are my digs. I’m usually up there on the second floor. If you ever need to talk – day or night – you can find me there.” He waggled his hairless brows at Hob. 

Hob smiled slightly, unable to determine what the ghoul’s body language meant. 

As they came around the corner, Hancock continued, “Down below the State House is the Third Rail. That’s where you’ll find most people in town, drinking and having a naughty good time. Best part of the Rail is Magnolia. She sings til about 2 in the morning. Voice of an angel.” Hancock stage whispered, “Ass of an angel.” 

“Ah. That’s…good.” 

Hancock pointed to the right. “Over here we got the Memory Den. Go see Irma if you feel like reliving the best days of your life. Or maybe your worst. Whatever blows your hair back,” said Hancock, rubbing the top of Hob’s bald head. “And finally here’s the Rexford.” 

They proceeded into the hotel. Most of the Quincy settlers were crowded in the lobby, waiting for their room assignments. “It’s looking like two or three to a room, assuming you don’t want to sleep outside,” said Preston to his group. A sharp-faced woman in flannel snatched the first key, wrenched the hand of the sad-looking man standing next to her, and headed upstairs. 

Hancock sidled up to the front desk. “Hey Clair, my angel, my beauty, my baby?”

The old black woman behind the desk groaned, “What now Johnny?”

“Hey sweets, don’t do me like that. I just need a little favor for my pal Hob here. Greatest guy in town. Kicked Wolfgang’s ass to the curb, saving me the trouble. Do you have any rooms, preferably one of the nice ones, for my fellow ghoul buddy?”

“No can do, Hancock. It’s my lucky night. These people just bought out all the rooms,” said Clair, gesturing to the crowd and typing names into her terminal.

Preston tapped Hob on the shoulder. “Excuse me, Hob is it? You’re welcome to share a room with me. We can’t thank you enough for helping us out back there.”

“Good man Preston!” said Hancock. He turned to Hob, “But I still owe you. Once you get settled in, head down to the Rail and I’ll buy you a drink or three. Maybe some chems too if you’re good.”

“Okay I will. Thank you sir, I mean, Mayor Hancock.”

Hancock turned to leave. “Gracious! Oh my stars and garters. He used my full title,” he said in a high-pitched voice, mock fanning himself. 

Preston chuckled, “He’s a pretty interesting guy.”

“You can say that again,” replied Hob.


	19. Vault-Tec Calling

Hob followed Preston and another man up two flights of stairs. Preston opened the door to their hotel room and wrinkled his nose at the funky smell. “Let’s get some moving air in here,” he said, hurrying to open the window. “Oh I’m sorry, Hob. Looks like there’s only two mattresses.” 

“That’s okay,” said Hob, putting his pack down in a corner. “Ghouls don’t really need sleep. You guys can take those.”

“Thanks pal,” said the other man in a heavy Virginia twang. “By the way, I never introduced myself. Name’s Sturges. If something’s broke, I can usually find a creative way to fix it, for a fee of course.” 

“Nice. I bet you’re good to have around,” said Hob appreciatively.

Sturges laughed. “I like to think so.”

Hob turned to Preston and tried to find the right words. “Earlier by the gate you said your settlement was wiped out? I’m really sorry. That’s a horrible tragedy.” 

Preston shifted uncomfortably. “Technically, it wasn’t my settlement. I was there with my commanding officer, Colonel Hollis. The Minutemen answered the call to defend Quincy from a Gunner attack. Well, the rest of the Minutemen were supposed to answer the call. Reinforcements didn’t arrive and Hollis was killed in action, as were nearly all the settlement’s civilians. I fought hard to protect them, but unfortunately I only managed to save twenty people. We managed to lose the Gunners around Jamaica Plain. The ferals there swarmed the Gunners and we escaped unnoticed. But it’s still been rough making our way through the ruins.” 

Hob was silent for a moment. Maybe not all humans were bad. “You’re really brave Preston. It would have been easy for you to just abandon those people when things got tough. But you didn’t. You stuck with them and protected them.” Hob patted him on the shoulder. “You’re a hero.”

Preston cleared his throat and wiped his eyes hastily. “Shall we head down to the Third Rail? I think I could use a beer right about now.” 

The three men left the hotel room. Almost immediately, Hob bumped into an old woman wearing a beaded teal jacket and brown scarf. She was standing in the middle of the hallway, a vacant expression on her face.

Hob apologized, “Excuse me ma’am, I didn’t see you there.” 

The old woman’s eyes went unfocused. “This world – it’s not yours,” she began in a dreamy Boston accent. “Your path is a winding one. Up and down and back again. But it’ll end where it began. Trust me kid. The Sight doesn’t lie. It always has answers.”

Hob’s eyes widened but he didn’t say anything. He turned to Preston and jerked his head at the woman, “Um. What?”

Preston frowned. “Mama Murphy, did someone give you Jet?” 

Sturges sighed. “I did. Lay off her, man. She’s the one getting us through all this.”

“She’s the one? Do you mean the only one? Because you can’t be serious,” scoffed Preston. 

“Not the only one, obviously. But The Sight saved our behinds in Quincy. Even Marcy admitted that, despite what happened to Kyle.” 

“I’m the one carrying the laser musket, not her.”

“You know what, man? Here’s your problem…”

While Sturges and Preston argued, Mama Murphy wandered back down the hotel hallway. She walked up to a tall ghoul wearing a goldenrod yellow trench coat and hat and conversed with him.

“Guys,” interrupted Hob, “were we heading down to the Third Rail or not?”

Sturges cleared his throat angrily. “Nah, you two go ahead. I’m going to bed.” 

Preston stomped down the stairs. Hob gave Sturges an apologetic smile before heading after Preston. They continued to the Third Rail in silence. A ghoul dressed in a crisp black tuxedo waved them through a metal doorway. “Name’s Ham. Hancock says newcomers are welcome in the Rail. Entertainment’s down the stairs.”

As Hob and Preston headed down the concrete stairs of the old subway station, a silvery voice began floating upwards. Hob heard Preston whistling along with the jazzy tune. As they came around a blue tile column, a woman’s voice rang out, “Thank you! A faster tempo to keep your mouth smiling and your toes tapping. I’ll be right back after a quick break.”

A buxom woman in a glittery red dress stepped down from the makeshift stage built over the old subway tracks. She headed to a reserved seat next to the bartender. Preston whistled appreciatively.

“Hancock told me the singer’s name is Magnolia,” said Hob, leaning over to Preston.

“Oh really?” Preston winked at Hob and headed to bar, introducing himself to Magnolia. Hob stared after him, confused. He had been quite certain based on Preston’s argument with Sturges that the two men were in a relationship. Hob realized he would never fully understand humans. 

A female ghoul in a brown wig tapped Hob on the shoulder. “So, you must be our hero of the day. Saw the whole thing from my shop. It’s not often a knight on a white horse rides into town and slays the dragon. I know you impressed the hell out of Hancock.”

Horses again? Hob really needed to understand why surface dwellers kept mentioning those. He was afraid to bungle a pre-war reference with this ghoul, so instead he stretched out his hand. “Pleased to meet you. Name’s Hob.”

“Daisy,” she giggled, shaking it. “My, don’t you have the manners. The smoothskins can’t always handle friendly faces like ours.”

Hob nodded in agreement, fairly sure she was referencing their unusual ghoul countenances. He supposed their raw skin could be quite frightening. 

“So, handsome, how long you gonna be in town for?”

“Not sure,” said Hob truthfully. “But these settlers are intriguing to me. They only have one man helping them. He seems a bit overwhelmed.” 

She laughed, “You can say that again. I doubt the rest of that group could shoot a gaggle of mole rats with a missile launcher. If they had more caps I might send them over to MacCready.”

“Who’s MacCready?”

“Bobby MacCready?” She gestured towards the VIP room with her beer bottle. “He’s Goodneighbor’s resident mysterious mercenary. Came to town one day after a falling out with the Gunners. He’s a hell of a sniper though. Could shoot this bottle out of my hand from 600 yards away. Beyond that we don’t know a whole lot about him.” 

“Interesting,” said Hob, putting his hands in his pockets. “Maybe I’ll go pay him a visit. See if we can work out a deal to help those settlers.”

Daisy couldn’t resist. She leaned over and kissed Hob on the cheek. “Where’d you come from angel? You fall straight from heaven?” She swigged the last of her beer and made for the bar.

Hob laughed. “Kind of the opposite I guess.”

“Hmm?” said Daisy over her shoulder.

Hob shook his head, “Never mind.” He walked down the short hallway into the Third Rail’s VIP room. A thin man was snoozing on a couch with his cap pulled over his face. “Hello?” Hob leaned over the man. “Are you MacCready?”

The man sat upright, startled out of his sleep. He barely avoided knocking heads with Hob. “What the fu- heck are you doing sneaking up on me, man? Scaring me half to death!”

Hob backed away and apologized, “Sorry, I know not everyone wants to wake up and see a ghoul face.”

“What? No. I mean yes, suddenly seeing a ghoul in a former metro station could be frightening to some. But not me,” he finished, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. 

Hob nodded slowly. “I see. Well MacCready, now that you’re awake, I have a question for you. A mercenary-related question.”

MacCready’s ears perked up. “And by that you mean a caps-related question, don’t you pal?”

“Exactly. There’s a group of settlers spending the night here in Goodneighbor. Apparently the Gunners raided their settlement in Quincy and killed almost everyone.” Hob paused, trying to gauge MacCready’s reaction to his mention of the Gunners. The merc’s face remained sleepily neutral. Hob continued, “I’m trying to help them. They’re planning to head north to find a new area to settle down. How much would it cost for you to be their bodyguard until Concord, for instance?” 

Mac narrowed his eyes, thinking. “Well that’s gonna be,” he started counting on his fingers, “500 caps.”

Hob was shocked. “You can’t be serious? 500!”

MacCready coughed hastily, “Uh I mean 400.”

Hob frowned again, folding his arms across his chest. MacCready relented, “Okay, 350 as long as they feed me.”

Hob hesitated, trying to figure out how to pull off his plan. “How much would 100 caps get me?”

“And you’re heading north? I think 100 could get you as far as, hmm, the Malden area, near Med-Tek Research. That’s far enough out of the city that they should be able to handle any subsequent problems themselves. Final offer.” He sat back, looking confident.

“Deal,” smiled Hob, extending his hand.

Mac shook it, “You got it buddy. Now just hand over the caps and we’ll be golden.”

Hob’s smile faltered. “Oh well I don’t have the caps just yet. I was going to ask – ” but MacCready cut him off.

“Aw seriously? Don’t fu- mess with my head. Either you got the caps, or you don’t. And if you don’t, then there’s the door.” He laid back down and threw an arm over his eyes.

Hob tried to explain, “See I did Hancock a favor earlier, and he wanted to give me something. Said he owed me, and – “

MacCready raised his arm from his face and peered at Hob from underneath it. “Hancock you say? Usually people owe him, not the other way around. Interesting. Think you could swing 150 caps for me?”

“I, um, maybe?”

The merc sat up. “Well all right then. Go make it happen, captain. Seriously, right now. Go on.” MacCready made shooing motions with his hands. 

Hob gave Mac a thumbs-up and headed back into the main bar. He scanned the area but didn’t see anyone wearing a tricorn hat. Hob did see Magnolia laughing and pushing Preston’s arm playfully. The ghoul headed back up the subway stairs. He turned to Ham and asked, “Hey man, any idea where I can find Hancock? I thought he’d be at the bar.”

“Upstairs.”

Hob thanked him and headed up into the Old State House. One of the ghouls of the neighborhood watch stopped him. “Hey, you the one that shot Wolfgang earlier?” Hob nodded. “That was pretty slick, man. We all hated that guy, him and his dumb patchy mustache.” The ghoul laughed. “Head on up. Hancock’s on the second floor.”


	20. Scout It Out

Hob ascended the wooden spiral staircase to the second floor of the State House. Fahrenheit was sprawled out on a ratty couch, staring up at the ceiling. Hancock was crouched down, rummaging around in the kitchen cabinets, clinking bottles together noisily.

“Hey Hancock, thought I’d be seeing you down in the Third Rail?”

The mayor jumped slightly. “Hob you can’t sneak up on a guy like that! I could’ve had a knife in you before you said ‘how-dee-do’. Anyway, here you are, the ghoul with big balls. I promised you a drink, didn’t I? Or maybe some chems?”

Hob cleared his throat. “Actually I had something else in mind.”

“Whoa!” shouted Hancock. “Fahr, you are no longer needed. Hob can’t resist my ghoulish charm.” He fluttered his non-existent eyelashes rapidly at Hob. 

Fahrenheit rolled her eyes and sat up. Hob held out his hands, stopping the mayor’s line of thinking. “What? Nope. Don’t get up Fahr.” Hob sat down on the other couch, “I was thinking of something different. It’s more of a favor for me. So we’d be even.”

Hancock sauntered over and sat next to Hob. “Hang on, if we’re having a real conversation I need a little assist.” He dug a box of Mentats out of his coat pocket and shook a couple tablets into his hand. He popped them into his mouth and washed them down with a shot of whiskey. The mayor shook his head rapidly back and forth and slapped each of his cheeks. “Okay I’m awake now. Lay it on me.”

Hob began, “Down in the Third Rail I met MacCready, the mercenary. I worked out a deal with him to protect Preston Garvey’s group of settlers on their way north, making sure they can get through Boston at least. But he said it would cost me 150 caps. Which I do not have, unfortunately.” 

Hancock pursed his lips but said nothing. He already had an idea where this conversation was going.

“So,” continued Hob, “is the favor I did for you worth 150 caps? You wouldn’t have to actually give me any money. It could go straight to MacCready. Everything’s above board. I’m happy, you’re happy. The merc is definitely happy. And I’m sure the settlers will appreciate it as well. What do you say?” Hob tried to put on what he believed was a winning smile. 

Hancock took a Jet canister out of a different pocket and began playing with it lazily while thinking. “Fahr, what’s your take on this dealio here?”

She thought for a moment. “How far north is he accompanying them?”

“He said he’d go as far as the Malden area, where Med-Tek Research is.”

Fahrenheit scoffed. “He’s overcharging you. To get there would merit maybe 110, 115 caps. But not much more.”

Hob thought for a moment. Father had definitely said there was creative leniency for this mission. He looked at Hancock, “I could handle the difference in order to pay him 150. If there’s work to be done around here, maybe I could stay and help out? That way the settlers’ departure won’t be delayed.”

The mayor continued thinking. “I do have something that needs to be checked out, but I think it’s a two-man job.” He looked over at Fahrenheit. “Hey Fahr, you play chess. You know that sometimes you have to sacrifice a piece to keep the game going.”

“Nope,” she said, lying back down on the couch. “I told you I don’t want to go there. Shit’s weird. Get someone else.”

“Go where? What’s weird? Wait, sacrifice a piece?” asked Hob, bracing himself once again for one of the many dangerous situations to be found on the surface.

Hancock inhaled the Jet, holding it for a moment, and then exhaled a white swirling cloud. “Place is called the Pickman Gallery. Got some reports of strange activity in the area. Need a couple guys to scout it out and see what’s going on.”

“Strange activity? What does that mean?”

“Well that’s exactly what I’d like to know, big boy.”

“Oh I got it,” interjected Fahrenheit. “How about – ” she whistled and mimed taking glasses off her face.

“What? No. He’s too much of a screwball for something serious like this. Too unpredictable.” 

Hob watched this back and forth, growing frustrated. “Please just tell me what’s going on. None of this motions-and-vagueness thing. Just use words and sentences, please.”

Hancock answered, “There’s a guy who hangs around Goodneighbor at times. Always leaving this shit around.” The mayor picked up a holotape from the coffee table and tossed it at Hob. “Wears sunglasses and leans against walls looking cool. Doesn’t appear to do a whole lot beyond that.”

Hob picked up the tape and blanched. “Wait, are they mirrored sunglasses? Extremely shiny?”

Hancock chuckled, “Yeah that’s the guy. Guess you’ve run into him already. Name’s Deacon. He works for this super-secret, and by that I mean not at all secret, organization. I allow them to operate in my little town in exchange for favors. Ever heard of the Railroad?”

“Yeah, they say that synths are slaves and The Institute is a tyrannical master,” said Hob, trying to keep his face neutral.

“That’s right. Guess you’ve heard the holotape already. Fucking Institute,” muttered the mayor. “Always running around and replacing people, shoving their hands up their asses and controlling ‘em like puppets. Well not in my town.” Hancock reached into his pocket and popped a couple more Mentats. He lightly punched Hob’s arm. “Hey brother, at least I don’t have to worry about you. No synth ghouls in Goodneighbor.”

Hob swallowed. “Right.” His heart started beating faster and he tried to return to the original topic. “So you want me to scout out the Pickman Gallery with this Deacon? And in exchange you’ll pay MacCready 150 caps to escort the settlers out of Boston? Everything is equivalent and you’re satisfied?” 

Hancock laughed suggestively. “I’m never truly satisfied if you catch my drift, but yeah in this instance, it all works out.”

“How do I find this Deacon person?”

The mayor blew a raspberry between his lips. “If I see him I’ll let him know. But who knows when I’ll actually be seeing him? The guy pops in and out of existence like an electron. Wow – quantum mechanics? That was a clever comparison!” He patted his pocket, “Mentats, baby!”

Hob stood up. “Should we shake on it, Slim?”

Hancock leapt to his feet and wrapped Hob in a tight hug. “Don’t tell Daisy, but I think you’re my new favorite ghoul.” 

Hob blinked in confusion and waited for the hug to end, but the mayor began swaying with Hob held hostage in his arms. “Uh, thanks Hancock,” said Hob, trying to extricate himself. “Thank you. I should probably, uh, go. I gotta inform MacCready and Preston of the new plan.”

Fahrenheit watched the scene before her with narrowed eyes. “Hancock, I told you to stop mixing Jet and Mentats! How many times do I have to say it?” She got up and pried the mayor off of Hob. “You get so clingy and weird. Jeez man.” 

Hob smiled at Fahrenheit and thanked Hancock again. As he left, Fahrenheit was smacking a Med-X syringe out of the mayor’s hand. Hob headed back down to the Third Rail. The bouncy music had stopped, replaced by a slow tune emanating from a jukebox in the corner. He didn’t see Magnolia or Preston anywhere. Hob returned to the VIP room and knocked on the hallway wall. “MacCready?”

The merc blinked blearily at him. “Hey, it’s, uh, you!” 

“Hob,” he said. “Name’s Hob. I had a good talk with Hancock and he agreed to your price of 150 caps to escort the settlers to Malden.”

MacCready smiled and sat up. “Well all right! Things are finally looking up. Let’s rock and roll!”

Hob made a mental note to start cataloguing human idioms. “Huh?”

“You know, let’s get going?”

“Oh, I still need to tell Preston – the guy in charge – that you’ll be helping them. Besides, I think they’re heading out in the morning.”

MacCready tapped the side of his head. “Nice. Smart. I hate traveling at night. You could walk into an ambush and never see it coming.” 

“Ah,” said Hob, who had never thought of that before. “I’ll have them meet you by the bench near the front gate. And I assume Hancock will pay you directly.”

“Yeah no worries. I know he’s good for it.”

“Okay. Thanks MacCready. See you in the morning.”

“Night,” said the sleepy merc, flopping back down on the couch.

Hob returned to his shared room at the Hotel Rexford. Sturges was asleep in the bed, though Preston was nowhere to be found. Hob gently shook Sturges’s shoulder. “Hey man, sorry to wake you. Do you know where Preston is?”

Sturges mumbled sleepily and sat up. “Huh? He’s not with you? Weren’t you at the bar together?”

“We were but I had some business to take care of. Last I saw he was talking to the singer. Magnolia.”

Sturges laughed hollowly. “You don’t say? So that’s how he wants to play it. That little shit.” 

Hob hesitated but decided to ask anyway. “Are you two, um, together? I thought so but Preston was talking to her in this peculiar way and I got confused.”

“It’s not really official, but I guess you could say we’re a thing. A something. The stress of traveling through the wasteland brings people together in strange ways. Even if you get in arguments, you’re still somehow bonded. Like military-grade duct tape.” 

Hob recalled how it felt when it was time to say goodbye to Trashcan Carla in Bunker Hill. That strange mixture of guilt and sadness. Hob now determined that “bittersweet” was right the word. 

“I’m sorry you two had a disagreement earlier. I didn’t know Mama Murphy was a sore subject. Does she often over-indulge with the chems? I think the mayor of Goodneighbor does too.”

Sturges sighed. “Definitely. But however they interact with that brain of hers, it unlocks ‘The Sight’. That’s what she calls her psyker abilities. Her visions are usually vague, and often not even about the future, but they’re helpful enough to stay outta trouble. Like even earlier, after you and Preston headed to the bar, she came up to me saying something about how we’ll find salvation if we first seek sanctuary. I can usually interpret what she means but I didn’t quite follow this time.”

Hob’s eyes grew wide. How did Mama Murphy know about Sanctuary? Had Father sent someone else from The Institute to make sure the objective was completed? “There’s a run-down neighborhood northwest of Concord,” offered Hob helpfully, trying to sound unsure. “I believe it’s called Sanctuary Hills. Maybe that’s what she means?”

“Northwest of Concord, eh? That does seem like a quiet area, relatively speaking. I’m sure there are fewer deathclaws and raiders. Who knows what we’ll find up there, but it’s gotta be better than constantly stumbling into Boston’s super mutant dens and pissing off every Gunner from here to kingdom come.”

“Absolutely. I hope it works out for your group. Oh and another thing, about the business I was taking care of in the Third Rail? I arranged for a mercenary named MacCready to protect your group on your way north out of the city. Apparently he’s not a big fan of the Gunners, plus he’s a skilled sniper. The only catch is that he’ll escort you as far as Malden. After there you should be find on your own. He’ll meet you in the morning by the front gate.”

Sturges smiled broadly. “Well how about that? Thanks man!” He slapped Hob’s back affectionately. “If you’re gonna be a fella, why not be a helluva fella, am I right?”

Hob grinned, unaccustomed to such genuine praise. “I’m going to take a stroll, see if I can learn anything else that might help your group. “I’ll let you get back to sleep.”

“Thanks,” said Sturges, who fell back on the bed and began snoring almost immediately. 

Hob descended the hotel stairs and found himself in a nearly empty lobby. The front desk woman called him over. “Hey you! So you’re Hancock’s special friend, right?”

The innuendo sailed over Hob’s head. “Yes, that’s me. And your name is Clair, right?”

“That’s right. Clair Hutchins, manager of this once fine establishment.” 

“Hancock said that Marowski owns this hotel. Do you know where exactly I could find him?”

Clair checked her watch. “Yeah I think he’s still awake right now. His office is back there,” she gestured behind her. “But be real sweet. He gets cranky late at night,” she whispered.

Hob walked to the office behind the front desk and knocked quietly on the door. “Scuse me, are you Marowski?”

A beefy man sitting in a desk chair looked up. “Yeah. What’s it to you?” he asked gruffly. 

Hob cleared his throat nervously and glanced at a smaller man standing behind Marowski. “Um, could we talk in private?”

“Stan, beat it. How ‘bout you go find Skinny and bother him instead.” Marowski’s bodyguard nodded silently and left the room. “Now, what do ya want?”

“I’m with our, uh, mutual friends? I need to pass some information along.”

Marowski laughed harshly. “So A.J. wasn’t just yanking my chain? No fucking way. A synth ghoul? What weird shit will they think of next?” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. 

Hob shrugged. He almost mentioned the synth gorilla and the new synth dog but thought better of it. “Are you able to pass them a message?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” said Marowski, pulling a piece of paper toward him. “What?”

Hob eyed the piece of paper, unsure of how secure this message was going to be. “Can you write: ‘they’ll find salvation by seeking sanctuary’. That’s it.” 

Marowski finished scribbling. “Got it. Anything else?”

“Just out of curiosity, what do you get in return for being an informant?”

Marowski rocked back and forth a couple times, causing the old chair to squeak while he was eyeing Hob. “Recipes,” he replied finally. “For new chem combinations. Or easier ways of making the regular ones. I give them to Fred Allen – maybe you ran into the zany old guy out in the lobby – so he can test them before putting them into production. Why, you looking to get into the chem trade?”

“No. I was just wondering what made passing those messages worth the risk. Money seems to be the logical answer.” Hob recalled the other Diamond City informant that Father had mentioned. “There’s a bartender who runs the Colonial Taphouse – Henry Cooke – he’s also an informant. I would think he’d make plenty of money selling alcohol.” 

Marowski nearly fell out of his chair. “No shit! Cooke’s working for The Institute too? That son of a bitch.”

Hob froze. Father didn’t explicitly say anything about the informant list being confidential. “Uh, forget I said that.” He hastily turned and left the hotel office. Marowski was still muttering to himself and slamming desk drawers.

Hob hurried up the stairs to his hotel room. “Shit!” he thought for the first time in his life. “Think before speaking next time, you idiot!”

Sturges was still sleeping alone, so Hob laid down on the mattress next to him. He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting back the desire to smack his forehead.


	21. Companionable Banter

Hob did not need to sleep, but he didn’t mind keeping his eyes closed. The darkness was a soothing balm for how angry he felt with himself. After a few hours, a man pushed his arm gently. Hob blinked rapidly, the bright morning sun blinding him. “Hmm, Preston?”

A pair of shades flashed back at him. “Guess again, sweetheart.”

Hob sat up quickly. “Deacon!”

A bald man wearing a bright orange Hawaiian shirt clicked his tongue. “That’s my name baby cakes, don’t wear it out.” He flopped down on the mattress, bouncing a little and stressing the old springs. “So what’s shakin’ bacon? When do you want to head out to the spooky ooky Pickman Gallery?” Deacon wiggled his fingers in front of Hob’s face while making ghost sounds.

Hob shoved Deacon’s hands away. “Stop that. Where are Preston and Sturges?”

“Ate ‘em. Needed some more ingredients for my ‘squirrel stew’,” he said, overemphasizing his air quotes. “Sprinkled some potato crisps on top for some extra texture. Really enhances the umami.”

Hob sighed in exasperation. “I’m tired of you already.”

“Aww, you’re making a gal blush over here.” Deacon took a scrap of paper out his pocket and read from it. “’Scribe Haylen – radio frequency: AF95’. Now, stop me if you’ve heard this one before, but to the best of my knowledge the Brotherhood of Steel hates ghouls. Just loathes them. Yet here you are rocking not the smoothest of skin – if you’ll forgive the bluntness – carrying around the Brotherhood military radio frequency. So what’s up with that, compadre?”

The veins on Hob’s neck start throbbing. “You, you went through my bag? Seriously?”

“Don’t get mad, doll. It’s what I do. I’ll ask again, where’d you get this radio frequency?”

“I didn’t get it from anywhere.”

“Come on sweetness, we both know that’s not true.” 

Hob fell silent, fuming and thinking hard. This was the same caravan guard who’d given him the holotape in Bunker Hill when Hob was wearing the “Slim” vesture. But Deacon didn’t know that, right? All he’d seen was – 

“I swiped it!” Hob blurted out. “From this little blond chick back in Bunker Hill. She looked like an easy mark so I grabbed her bag when she wasn’t looking. Thought there’d be caps in there. You want answers about that paper, go find and interrogate her. But leave me out of it.” He crossed his arms, pouting.

Deacon smiled, jabbing his finger into Hob’s chest. “Treacherous fiend! Looks like you’ve been caught running afoul of the law!” He picked up Hob’s bag and returned it, but held up the piece of paper and kissed it. “Hope you don’t mind if I save this. Might put it in my heart-shaped locket for safekeeping.”

Hob grumbled and got out of bed. “The sooner we check out the Pickman Gallery for Hancock, the sooner this little working relationship can be over. Since you know everything, has Preston’s settler group left yet?”

“Why yes I do know everything. Thank you. And no, they haven’t left yet. But isn’t that an interesting contradiction? A petty thief who targets the defenseless damsels of Bunker Hill steps through the Goodneighbor entrance and suddenly has a heart of gold. Standing up for the little guys. You’re so golden that you slept in the same bed as one of them last night.”

Hob picked up his pack and left the room without looking to see if Deacon was following him. “I don’t have any caps dipshit. I’m not gonna turn down a free mattress. As for Wolfgang, I ran into him before. He was a dick then, and he was a dick last night. No second chances for humans like that.” 

Deacon bounced down the stairs behind Hob. “I get it, no worries. Jeez darling, you’re always so cranky in the morning.”

Hob groaned in irritation and headed toward the front gate of Goodneighbor. Preston was counting the settlers’ heads the way teachers do before taking their students on an outing. Sturges was standing next to him, making a point of ignoring him. MacCready awkwardly stood next to the two men, looking down and picking his nails.

Deacon walked up to Preston. “What’s up P-dog? Your gang ready to blow this popsicle stand?”

“Morning Deacon. Looks like everyone’s here.” Preston raised the volume of his voice. “Okay guys, time to head towards Sanctuary! Remember to keep the noise levels down in the city and stay alert. Josh, Anthony, I want both of you with Mama Murphy. We don’t need to lose anyone else. Emma, you’re now an honorary member of the Minutemen. I want you up here with me, keeping watch. MacCready will be bringing up the rear.”

Deacon snorted at this assignment. As the merc walked past, Deacon waved at him. “Bye bye, Blamco.” MacCready scowled and glanced over his shoulder, flipping him off. Deacon mimed catching the gesture and putting it in his pocket. Once the group of settlers had shuffled through the gate, Deacon turned to Hob. “Come now my prince of petty purloining, shall we dance?” He bowed gracefully and pointed at the door.

Hob rolled his eyes and rubbed his face. “You have got to dial down the energy. Please. And what’s with all these nicknames? P-dog? Blamco? Can’t you just say someone’s real name?”

Deacon scoffed in mock offense. “Excuse me? P-dog is my best friend in the whole wide world. Last night we braided each other’s hair and exchanged friendship bracelets. And Blamco,” he laughed, “Well I admit, it’s fun to make him mad.”

“What does ‘Blamco’ mean anyway?”

“Aw c’mon. Seriously? MacCready? Mac? Mac and cheese? Blamco? Check out mister cool ghoul over here. Only calls people by their real names,” he gestured at Hob with his thumb. 

Hob grumbled and tried to change the subject. “Never mind all that. We can keep walking but I don’t know exactly where the Pickman Gallery is. You’ll need to lead the way.”

“No worries, mi amor. We’ll be shadowing your little settler group northwest for a bit. Watching their six. They’ll head off northwest over the bridge toward Bunker Hill and then we’ll veer east.” 

Hob looked around. “Where are we now?”

Deacon stopped and stared up at the tower to their right. A huge sign displayed an atomic symbol over large blue letters: MASS FUSION. “Are you serious right now? Please dear lord let you be serious right now. Based on that sign, I’m guessing we’re at the bottom of the Washington Monument. No wait, I think this is the Eiffel Tower.” He studied the building, stroking his non-existent beard. He snapped his fingers, “I got it. This is the Leaning Tower of Pizza.” 

Hob bit back a laugh and worked to keep his face neutral. “Oh wait I see the sign now. Mass Fusion. Okay, so what happens in this building?”

Deacon made a noise so high pitched it almost broke the glass in a nearby window. He leaned on a pile of sandbags stacked against a concrete barrier. “What happens in the…Mass…Fusion…building?” He moaned and held his head in his hands. “I dunno man. They probably bake cookies, or teach gorillas how to tap dance, or figure out how to make grilled radroach not taste like ass, or…” 

He looked up at Hob. The ghoul was trying so hard to stifle laughter that tears were streaming out of his eyes. A little squeak escaped and he clasped his hand over his mouth.

The spy let one genuine chuckle pass his lips. “You bitch. Okay, you got me.” He put his hands up in the air and waved them repeatedly. “I bow down to you, my fine sir. For this exchange only, you shall be considered the king of quips, the duke of deadpan, the royalty of wry repartee, the – ”

Hob smirked. “Okay okay, that’s enough. I get it, you’re good with alliteration.” He continued heading north. 

Deacon jogged up next to him, pointing at the Boston Bugle building. “So amigo, you ever been in there?” Hob shook his head. “It’s pretty neat. A bunch of the terminals have records of the articles that came out before the bombs dropped. The writing was on the wall, but somehow people were still blindsided. This one article talked about how the president abandoned the White House for six months, yet a bunch of people thought he was just hanging out at Raven Rock near Camp David.”

Hob added, “He was really on the oil rig Control Station Enclave.”

Deacon narrowed his eyes behind his sunglasses but acted impressed. “Wow, not many people know that! Oh but wait,” he gestured up at Hob’s bald head, “I forgot. You got all that pre-war data in your noggin.”

It was widespread wasteland knowledge that ghouls did not have to answer non-ghouls’ questions about life before the Great War. Many of them became so distraught that they shut down completely. There was a popular theory that remembering how beautiful the world used to be caused normal ghouls to turn feral. Hob did not know this, and fell right into Deacon’s trap.

The spy looked around, pretending to take in the sights. “I bet it’s weird for you, being here in the city.”

Hob shrugged, “I guess.”

“All these reminders of how the world isn’t clean and sparkling anymore. Just, bam! One moment separating regular life from all-encompassing nuclear conflagration.” Deacon feigned hesitance. “So, um, where were you when the bombs dropped?” he asked, breaking the de facto protocol for talking to ghouls. 

Hob fidgeted with the collar of his leather jacket. He thought of being in Clayton Holdren’s quarters. “I was sitting at my desk somewhere near Cambridge, reading on my terminal. I was a research assistant for a genetic engineer,” he replied, carefully couching his answer in a kernel of truth. “There was a time when I believed humanity could be redeemed. In the span of seconds everything changed. Billions of lives were lost, all because global leaders were too selfish to make peace happen.”

“Ain’t that a bite? I’m sorry pal.” Deacon hummed thoughtfully. “If you had been in charge, what would you have done?”

“Does it really make a difference? No matter what, humans always let me down.”

“C’mon pumpkin, don’t be like that.”

Hob sighed, thinking. Based on his research it seemed so obvious. “Fine. I would’ve made sure people had no dreams.”

Deacon’s eyebrows shot up in shock. This response altered his hypothesis about Hob’s true identity. “Care to elaborate on that?”

“Humans are full of appetites and desires. They always want things, and to get things they need other things, namely resources – oil, uranium, whatever else. But there are only so many resources, and when people can’t get what they want, they inevitably start killing each other. All humans fear a violent death. They use this fear of death as a tool in order to satiate their appetites and desires. They commit the oldest sins in the newest ways. That’s why war never truly changes.”

Deacon shook his head and kicked a tin can out of their path. “You sure about that?

“Sure about what?”

“I mean, are you absolutely certain that all people fear a violent death?”

Hob thought about Trashcan Carla laughing while firing a mini-nuke into the horde of super mutants. “Well, maybe they don’t always show it, but they are afraid of death. All the time.”

As they walked through Beacon Hill, Deacon stopped to rummage through a nearby mailbox, covered in chalk markings. He pulled out a Nuka Cola, popped the cap off, and took a sip while casually putting something in his pocket. “I’m not afraid of a violent death.”

Hob spurned this assertion. “I don’t buy it.”

Deacon took another sip. “No really, I don’t. Because I grew up in this hell we call the Commonwealth. All wastelanders know that our miserable lives will end in some gruesome way. Stepping on a frag mine, stumbling across a deathclaw nest, becoming target practice for a Gunner recruit. Some way, somehow, we’ll all get turned into human meat chunks and become part of the latest trends sweeping raider interior design. So no, I’m not afraid of a violent death because I’m sure it will happen. I’m 100% certain.”

Hob furrowed his brow. “You don’t think peace is possible? Even for a small group of people?” he asked, thinking of the handful of scientists who comprised The Institute.

The spy laughed heartily. “That was a good joke, sweet pea. I needed that.” He exaggerated wiping tears from his eyes. “To answer your question, no. Peace can only be possible for a single, solitary person. The moment you add someone else into the mix, that’s a recipe for instant conflict. The more people, the more potential conflict. Hence, war.”

Hob felt a creeping, sinking feeling in his stomach. A sudden burst of anger enveloped him. “Well then what’s the point! What’s the point of any of this? Why not just kill yourself and be done with it?”

Deacon tossed his empty Nuka Cola bottle into a rubbish pile. He frowned, surprised that it did not shatter. “The point, champ,” he answered, squeezing Hob’s shoulder tightly, “is to find something that gives you a purpose. To work toward something greater than yourself and give your shitty life even a modicum of meaning. The only time people can be brave is when they’re afraid.”

“Didn’t you just say you don’t fear death? Doesn’t that mean you’re not brave?”

Deacon laughed, “You got me there. Okay, barring me, the average wastelander is both terrified and courageous at the same time. All of us have to wake up every morning and figure out what could possibly motivate us to go out and once again risk the certainty of violent death.”

“Such as?” asked Hob, skeptical of what could possibly be worth risking violence. 

“Such as helping others,” said Deacon simply. They arrived at the bridge spanning the Charles River. Deacon stopped and watched the last of Preston’s settlers crossing the bridge, disappearing in the shadow of the Bunker Hill obelisk. “Think about it. Didn’t you feel all ooey gooey warm inside when you hired Blamco to protect those guys?”

Hob pursed his lips. Father’s orders had been to make sure the settlers made their way to Sanctuary Hills. He had said Hob’s creative problem-solving could be used in any way to ensure this happened. Technically, it wasn’t necessary to hire MacCready at all to look after the settlers. But Clayton had said that Alan Binet had programmed Hob to protect life. Therefore, hiring MacCready was just Hob acting in accordance with his programming. 

Right?

“I suppose I felt a sense of satisfaction. It wasn’t absolutely necessary to work out the deal, but I did anyway.”

Deacon turned east and began strolling along the riverfront. “Mmhmm. Moreover, you made sure Hancock would pay Mac the full 150 caps, and to make up the difference, you’re checking out the über creepy Pickman Gallery in a pro bono capacity. Face it dreamboat, you’ve already figured out how to carve some meaning out of this backward world, even if you stumbled upon it accidentally.”

A variety of thoughts rattled around Hob’s head. They were rudely interrupted by shouts and the echoing of gunfire.


	22. Brian's Objection

Back in The Institute, Justin Ayo knocked on Father’s door. “Sorry to interrupt. Marowski relayed a message from J9-39.” He read from a piece of paper, “All it says is ‘they’ll find salvation by seeking sanctuary’. I assume this means everything is going according to plan. The watchers show that the settlers have just left the Bunker Hill area.”

Father hastily closed a message on the terminal in his quarters and cleared his throat. “Thank you Justin. As for the matter that Clayton brought forward, did you find an acceptable test subject?”

“Yes, same place as before. Thanks to Tommy Lonegan, the Combat Zone continues to be a reliable acquisition site. I think Z2-47 found someone who will fit the parameters of the new project. I think Clayton has made a lot of progress so far, but Brian continues to be very, ah, vocal about his disapproval of our procurement methods and subject housing.”

“I see. Perhaps I’ll make my way down to BioScience and see if I can’t smooth his ruffled feathers.”

“Do you need some assistance? I can send a courser or two with you.”

Father shook his head and rose from his desk chair. “I hardly think that will be necessary. But thank you for your concern, Justin.”

In the BioScience division, Clayton Holdren was having a heated argument with a super mutant. “This has nothing to do with you, Brian. You have got to relax! Go back to the FEV lab and clean up the mess you made, and let me continue my research in peace.”

Brian Virgil growled, picked up a microscope, and threw it at the gorilla enclosure. It smashed against the reinforced glass wall, sending bits of metal and plastic flying.

Father cleared his throat loudly. “Brian, we’d prefer it if you submitted a formal complaint instead of destroying Institute property.”

The super mutant whirled around, unaware that Shaun was present. “Oh, director. I didn’t know you were watching. It’s this damn body! The slightest thing sets me off and I can’t control my rage.”

“Use your words,” said Father soothingly, with a hint of condescension. 

Virgil growled again. He clenched his jaw and breathed loudly through his nose, trying to calm himself down. “How many times over the last year and a half did I beg you to shut down the FEV research program? It was unethical to continue a century-long trial that produced no viable results. Worse, it was immoral to kidnap adults – let alone children – who could not consent to experimentation. And now,” he stared daggers at Clayton, “I find out you’re doing it again!”

“I’m not hurting anybody!” exclaimed Clayton. “She’s fine. All I needed were blood and tissue samples. She’s sitting in the other room completely unharmed.”

“You’re holding her against her will!” bellowed Virgil. 

“I can’t have her just strolling around on the surface after making a vesture out of her, now can I? We learned that lesson the hard way when Art escaped with his double. Eventually she will be returned to her chem- and alcohol-fueled lifestyle, safe and sound, once Father’s objective is completed.”

“And what exactly is this objective?” asked Virgil, scowling at Father. “I keep hearing rumors of this mysterious plan of yours, but no one aside from the division heads seems to know what you’re up to.”

“As you acknowledged, that information is privileged for those with the highest clearance levels. It is not your place to question my goals for The Institute. You are extremely lucky that you were not banished to the surface after your little outburst in the FEV lab,” said Father coldly. “Incident V destroyed decades of research on synthetic organics.”

“Apparently not soon enough,” groused Virgil. 

“Whoa there big guy. Watch yourself before you go too far,” said Clayton. “Father was pretty generous to let you stay down here. I wouldn’t have been so lenient.”

“Thank you Clayton. I don’t think I need to remind Brian of how fortunate he is to maintain access to the FEV lab. If I confined him to his quarters, he wouldn’t be able to keep working on that little serum of his.” Shaun paused and narrowed his eyes. “Just think, he might have to remain a super mutant for the rest of his natural lifespan.”

Virgil growled again, working desperately at keeping his temper under control. “Fine, have it your way. But you spend too much time in that board room making life-or-death decisions for surface dwellers from the comfort of The Institute. At least go visit her. Maybe remembering that she’s a human being will have some effect on your heart of stone.”

The super mutant stomped off and left the BioScience division. With each step the delicate sensors and test tubes on the nearby tables rattled. 

Shaun pursed his lips, thinking for a moment. “Clayton, accompany me to the observation room. I would like to meet your test subject. And someone get a janitorial synth in here to clean up this mess. Now.”

Clayton grabbed a clipboard with his latest notes. The two men cut through the FEV lab, carefully stepping over toppled shelves and broken bottles. They proceeded down a long corridor lined with holding cells. They walked up to the nearest room and Clayton knocked on the glass.

A young woman with cherry red hair sprang up from a hospital-style bed. She pounded on the glass and screamed at them. 

“Hey you fuckers!” she shouted in a thick Irish accent. “What the hell are you eggheads playing at? One minute I’m sleeping on that filthy mattress in the back room of the Combat Zone, and the next minute I’m sitting in this hospital and you’re sticking me with needles!” She paused for a breath and peered at their clothing more closely. “Oh I get it, we’re in a vault right now, aren’t we? You Vault-Tec bastards just couldn’t get enough and now you’re looking for more subjects for your creepy little experiments.”

Father shushed her gently. “Now now, young lady, we mean you no harm. As you very astutely determined, we are indeed in a vault right now. Vault 95. My name is Dr. Smith, and this is my colleague Dr. Johnson. We have done extensive research on chem addicts in an effort to synthesize a stronger, longer-lasting version of Addictol.” He turned to Clayton, “Dr. Johnson, why have you not yet administered the dose for this patient?”

Clayton gaped at Father’s improvisation. He hesitated, “Uh, Cait here has been fairly belligerent due to the side effects of detoxification. I was planning to administer the dose when I, um, no longer feared for my physical safety.”

She pounded on the glass with her fist. “You’re damn right I’ve been belligerent. Doesn’t take a genius to figure out that I’m having Psycho withdrawals. I hate that shite but me skin’s crawling and me veins feel like they’re on fire.”

Father took the clipboard from Clayton and examined it. “Your catecholamine levels are quite high, your blood pressure is elevated, and your liver is producing too much ALT. Yes, Miss Cait, you are indeed experiencing Psycho withdrawals. I think my colleague here needs to administer the Addictol right away. Would you be able to be civil long enough for him to enter your room and give you the dose?”

Cait looked at Father sullenly. “I s’pose.”

Father smiled graciously. “Thank you so much.” He glanced into her room. “And I see you’ll be needing a fresh set of sheets and a hot meal. We’ll make sure that’s taken care of right away.”

“Fine,” she replied. “But make it quick. If I have to wait too long I might think you’re up to something here.”

Clayton and Father left the FEV observation area. “That was pretty impressive, Father! Her chart didn’t display any of that information,” remarked Clayton incredulously. “When should I give her the Addictol?”

“Do not waste our precious resources on that junkie raider,” replied Father, irritated by the question. “If she keeps screaming, sedate her. My head is already pounding.” 

“I understand,” said Clayton. “Do you want to see the progress we’ve made on her vesture?”

“No thank you,” said Father, leaving the FEV lab and heading toward the BioScience door. “I don’t need to gaze upon that wretched visage more than I have to.”

“Got it,” replied Clayton quietly. He privately wondered why Father seemed more agitated than usual.


	23. Bad News Day

Father marched to the Robotics division, avoiding eye contact with passing Institute scientists. 

“Oh Father? Do you have a minute?” Enrico Thompson caught him right as he was about to enter Robotics. 

“Is it absolutely urgent? Or can it wait?” replied Shaun, peevishly.

“Uh yes, yes it can, Father. I’m sorry to bother you sir,” replied Enrico, surprised by Father’s reaction. His eyes widened with fear and he took a step back, as did a nearby janitorial synth.

Shaun swept into Robotics. “Alan! Max! It’s time for an update,” he barked. Alan Binet and Max Loken shared a hesitant look before hurrying over to Father. “Please tell me you have some good news. Though I doubt it with how my day is going.”

Alan’s shoulders slumped slightly. “I’m sorry Father. We’ve tried to dig deeper into the terminals but whoever erased M7-97’s recall code and authorization did a really thorough job of it. The records have been completely scrubbed. But we did realize that, well,” he broke off.

“Well, what?” snapped Father.

Max took over, “For this to have occurred, the deletion either came from your terminal directly, or from someone with your username and password.”

“Surely you’re not accusing me?” asked Shaun, livid.

“Absolutely not!” said Alan quickly. “It means somebody entered your quarters and erased the code there, or swiped your credentials somehow. Do you remember being away for a long enough period that this could have happened?”

Father thought back over his schedule for the past couple days. “It probably happened when the Directorate convened to explain part of the plan to J9-39 and go over the details of the Goodneighbor mission.”

“That’s a start,” said Max. “Maybe Justin could start quietly investigating for you? Nothing official, but something to smoke out the culprit behind the scenes?”

Father nodded. “I will speak to him. Any progress on creating an alternative to the recall code and authorization?”

Alan made a noncommittal noise. “We’ve tested a variety of electromagnetic pulse devices, but we’re having trouble focusing the pulse to just one target. All the EMPs unintentionally wiped nearby synths, namely those who had just exited the Robotics processing chamber after a successful program download.”

“Therefore, if a courser used this EMP, it would be affected?”

“Unfortunately yes. A courser would be able to neutralize the threats in the Cambridge Police Station, but it couldn’t both wipe M7-97 and successfully bring it back to The Institute,” said Max.

“But if you sent a human, I’m thinking of Kellogg for this, he would be totally unharmed,” offered Alan helpfully.

Father considered this proposition. “What about his cybernetic implants?”

“Kellogg’s augmentations are kind of outdated compared to the third gens. He’s full of vacuum tubes, which would be immune to an electromagnetic pulse,” said Alan. 

“Very well. Modify the EMP and turn it into some sort of weapon. Kellogg has trouble completing tasks if they don’t involve a gun,” sneered Shaun. “As soon as it’s ready let me know. If this ‘Paladin Danse’ is killed and the Brotherhood discovers it’s one of ours, then they’ll be coming for us before we’re ready.”

Alan and Max nodded. Father turned on his heel and left Robotics, blatantly ignoring Enrico Thompson, who was still hovering near the entrance to the division. Shaun headed directly to the Synth Retention Bureau. Inside, he found Justin, Madison, and Allie clustered around the wall of screens.

“Are we working, or are we socializing?” 

Madison turned around and threw him a nasty look. “Nope, try again,” she said crossly.

Father’s eyes flashed dangerously. He opened his mouth to speak but Allie interrupted, trying to keep the peace. “We’ve finally got a lead,” she said, pointing to a screen in the middle of the wall. “Look at this. Both the settler group and Hob, um J9, left Goodneighbor this morning. J9 and this bald man in the flowery shirt stopped in front of the Mass Fusion building. That area has not been searched yet, so after they moved on we dispatched a synth scavenger team. Don’t worry, no third gens are present in the team. Since the building is enormous, the synths are still combing each level. It’s not a guarantee, but there is a chance that we’ll find a beryllium agitator.”

Shaun breathed out slowly. He patted her on the back. “Thank you Allie. I didn’t think I’d hear any good news today.”

Allie smiled, trying to contain how pleased she was.

Father made a come-hither motion with his index finger. “Justin, a word?” 

They headed into the office on the other side of the SRB. “Alana, out,” said Justin firmly.” Alana Secord picked up some file folders and quickly shuffled out of the room. “Something wrong, Father?” he asked.

“I need you to look into something for me, off the record.”

Justin raised an eyebrow. “What are we talking about here?”

“I just came from Robotics. Apparently the permanent deletion of M7-97’s recall code occurred either on my terminal or somewhere else with my credentials. I have a sneaking suspicion this was done by the same people who have been aiding and abetting the above-ground escapees. The number of fugitives certainly has been increasing in recent years.”

“I’ve sent coursers to every division but everyone seems to start ‘conveniently forgetting’ facts any time they’re interrogated about escaped synths. How should I proceed with the M7 matter?”

“I think you need to start with Alan Binet. He has the greatest knowledge of the inner workings of the third gens. It’s possible his mastery at programming synthetic brains has led him astray into the belief that synths are people born with individual human rights. Once, I walked in on him having an argument with Max about whether or not synths should be able to sleep so they can have dreams. ”

Justin shook his head. “Alan’s brilliant, but he’s also delusional. I’ll handle this for you sir.”

“Thank you Justin. I know I can count on your discretion.” Father tapped the side of his nose. Justin typed something on the office terminal. Shaun returned to the room with the wall of screens. “Madison,” he said in a menacingly calm voice, “we need to talk.”

Allie Filmore squeaked and hastily exited the SRB. Madison rolled her eyes. “Something the matter?” she asked insolently.

“Are you dissatisfied here? Are you longing to explore the world above?”

“Trying to intimidate me, Shaun? Threatening me with exile? The surface doesn’t scare me – you know that. Unlike you, I’ve actually been there.”

Father tilted his head to the side, a strange smile playing on his mouth. “Have you talked to Virgil today?”

“Why do you ask?”

“He too was unabashedly brazen with me earlier. I know how the two of you rile each other up.”

She sighed. “Brian and I are exhausted by The Institute’s selfishness and lack of transparency,” said Madison, glancing sideways at Father. “But no, I don’t have to have spoken to him today. Everyone’s already gossiping about what happened between you two in BioScience. I’m not sure how Clayton’s involved in this, but regardless, it’s almost certainly your fault.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean! Here we are, surrounded by cutting edge laboratory equipment and some of the world’s most brilliant scientific minds, and all we’re doing is making androids play dress-up and creating your childhood doppelganger!”

Shaun hummed and rocked up and down on the balls of his feet. “Yes, and you’re quite attached to my little ‘doppelganger’, aren’t you?” His mouth broadened into a wide shark smile. “Maybe it’s time for S9-23 to be observed by someone impartial and rational. Not so hysterical. Yes, I like that idea. Effectively immediately, the boy will no longer reside in Advanced Systems. Once he returns from Diamond City he will be moved to my quarters.”

Madison felt the lump rising in her throat. She blinked back tears. “Fine,” she said shakily, trying to regain control of her voice. “Whatever you want, S9. Oops, I mean ‘Shaun’.” She turned to storm out of the Synth Retention Bureau. “Out of my way!” she snapped at a courser. It turned to Father and waited for his response. 

“It’s okay, Z2-47,” said Father. “Just let her go.” He turned at looked back at the wall of screens. “Everything needs to happen faster,” he thought to himself. “Much faster.”

Father reluctantly left the SRB. He walked slowly to the infirmary, arriving sooner than he meant to. Dean Volkert looked up from his terminal, smiled sadly at Father, and waved him over. He pulled a small bottle out of his lab coat.

“I have the temozolomide. This is a month’s worth of pills so you won’t have to come here as frequently,” said Dean, keeping his voice low. “Don’t want to arouse any suspicion.” 

Father pocketed the bottle. “Thank you. What do you think the probability is that this course of treatment will have any effect?”

The doctor bit his lip. “Not high, sir. Since we’ve exhausted all other options already, I’d say maybe in the 12-15% range?” he said, trying to sound convincing.

Shaun creased his brow. “I know you’re inflating those numbers, Dean. My glioblastoma is aggressive and unbeatable. But thank you for trying to make a dying man feel better.” He patted the doctor gently on the shoulder. “After all the excitement of today, I think I need to lie down.”

“I can escort you, if you’d like?” offered the doctor.

Father waved his hands dismissively. “No, that’s fine. The gossip is already running rampant. We don’t need to add any fuel to the fire.” He trudged back to his quarters, his feet as heavy as lead.


	24. The Dallas Darlin'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Pickman Gallery descriptions

In front of the Pickman Gallery, Hob and Deacon accidentally waltzed into a gun fight. 

Deacon grabbed Hob’s forearm and held him back. “Hold on, heartbreaker. Don’t just rush in. Listen for a bit. Let them figure it out first.”

They heard various raider grunts and shouts. “Spread out! Find ‘em!” Hob heard the click of a lighter and the sound of shattering glass. A woman asked, “What the fuck was that? Aw shit, fireworks!” After two seconds an enormous explosion occurred. Deacon heard ragged breathing and the distinctive shuffling of a body being dragged. An angry male voice begged, “Don’t you die on me! Dammit! Fuck this, I’m out.” Hob heard the quick steps of someone fleeing. 

Deacon made a follow-me motion with his finger and crept stealthily around the corner of a brick building. The fission engine of a rusted out truck was still on fire. A dead body was slumped against a wall. Hob stepped over a bloody stump still wearing its boot. He whispered to Deacon, “That used to be a person.”

“A raider,” corrected Deacon. “But you’re right angel. One moment here, the next moment – poof.” 

Deacon stopped. A petite raider with blond hair was sitting on the ground next to a large metal barrel. The fire inside it cast flickering shadows on the wall. The raider was sniffling and holding her right arm to her chest. When she saw Hob and Deacon her eyes grew wide with fear. “Leave me alone! I’ve got a knife!” she warned in a comically thick Texas accent. 

Hob raised his hands in the air and took another step toward her.

“I mean it!” she shrieked. “Not one step more! Just turn around and walk away.” She fished a knife out of the sheath tightened around her thigh. “This got nothin’ to do with you, stranger!” She brandished her blade at the ghoul, breathing heavily.

Hob stopped and crouched down to the ground. He opened his pack slowly. “Easy there, miss. I’m just looking for a stimpak. Your arm’s in pretty bad shape.” His fingers groped around the bottom of his bag and closed around one of the stimpaks that Scribe Haylen had gifted him. “See, here it is. Can I come a little closer to show it to you?” The raider hesitated before nodding and re-sheathing her knife. “Good girl. Nice and calm. Let’s see what we’re working with.” Hob moved aside the torn leather over her bicep, causing her to hiss with pain. He frowned, “We need to clean the wound before using the stimpak. Do you have any water?” She shook her head and looked up at Deacon.

“I got bupkis,” he replied, shrugging.

Hob gestured to the northeast, “Well could you run over and check that diner? It probably has some.” Deacon groaned and stomped off, mumbling something about having to suffer fools gladly. Hob smiled apologetically at the raider. “Sorry about him. Kids get cranky when they miss their afternoon naps.”

She giggled. “I reckon he’s off pitchin’ a hissy fit.” The raider flashed him a saccharine smile. “So what’s your name, sugar?” she asked, pushing his shoulder playfully. 

Hob was reminded of Magnolia interacting with Preston the night before in the Third Rail. Was this person flirting with him? He hesitated, not wanting to be perceived as taking advantage of a vulnerable woman. “Hob,” he replied simply. “You?”

“The name’s Dixie, but all my friends call me the Dallas Darlin’ on account of my charmin’ personality.” She winked at him and giggled again. “So, uh, what are y’all doin’ here anyhow?”

Deacon walked up carrying two cans of purified water. “Just checking out the Pickman Gallery. Heard some chatter that weird things happen here.” He handed Hob one of the cans. “We could ask you the same question,” he said coolly, popping the lid of the other one and draining it.

“Well as a matter a fact, that’s why I’m here too. Things ain’t been right for a while now. My friends keep disappearin’ in this area, so Slab – he’s my big bad raider boss – asked me to come down here and check it out. Didn’t expect to get my arm shredded on account of some corn-fed raiders. I don’t know why they decided to attack lil old me.” She fluttered her eyelashes at Deacon. “I wouldn’t pull the wings off a bloatfly.”

Deacon couldn’t resist. “Remember five minutes ago when you were brandishing that knife at us? Good times. Where’s my camera when I need it?”

She huffed and looked at Hob, who had finished tearing away the bloody bits of leather covering her wound. “This might hurt,” said Hob, cracking the can and pouring water over the long gash on her upper arm. 

She clutched his arm tightly and whimpered. “Oh honey that sure did sting.” Dixie squeezed her eyes shut. “I just hate needles! Can’t stand ‘em. C’mon with that stimpak. Hurry up and git it over with.” 

Deacon couldn’t take it anymore. He hastily yanked the stimpak out of Hob’s hand and injected the raider with more force than necessary. Her eyes flew open. “Ouch! Whaddya do that for?” Both Hob and Dixie scowled up at him.

He smiled at her. “Sorry Dallas. I didn’t want you to suffer.”

A momentary shadow passed over her eyes but she regained her composure. “You’re too kind, lil chickadee. I feel better already.”

“Glad to hear it,” said Hob, examining her wound as it began stitching itself together. “If that’s the case, you’re welcome to accompany us inside. Surely it’ll be safer if you don’t end up alone in the gallery.” 

Deacon rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses. “But don’t feel obliged. You can stay out here and bask in the freshly irradiated Commonwealth air. Take in the sights. Maybe catch a show.”

Dixie pouted up at him. “And leave me here all vulnerable for when those other raiders come back? I’d make a mighty purdy target.” She got to her feet. “Thank you for the invite, Hob. I reckon I will join you two.” As Hob stood and turned to sling his bag over his shoulder, Dixie quickly stuck her tongue out at Deacon.

He walked over and opened the door to the Pickman Gallery. “After you, gorgeous.” She started to walk forward but Deacon raised his arm and blocked her path. “Not you.”

Hob wondered what was going on between these two. Was this more human flirting? He proceeded into the gallery and instantly regretted it. If his ghoul vesture had a complete nose he would have been scrunching it in utter disgust. Based on Deacon’s retching sounds, Hob was very glad he wasn’t wearing a human vesture.

The air was saturated with the rancid smell of decomposition. After entering the gallery, the group immediately headed to the left. In the middle of the room was some sort of altar composed of intricately arranged bookcases encircled by raider heads on pikes.

Dixie gasped loudly. She walked around the altar, touching each former person lightly on the forehead. “Oh my goodness gracious. Charlie, Bones, Freddie, Oslo, J-Man. Oh no! Ginger! He was my favorite.” She hugged the head of a raider who had a heavy brow and long shaggy hair when he was alive. “My poor baby Gin. What sort of monster would do this to my friends?”

“A certified, grade A, highly skilled, depraved freak,” answered Deacon, who had pushed his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose in order to better view the paintings lining the walls. He was frowning at the glib title of a particularly heinous one: “Picnic for Stanley”. He chuckled darkly. “But to the artist’s credit, this piece does have some skilled brush work. And my goodness, such bold use of color.”

“Being a freak is not a legitimate reason for doing this,” replied Hob. He had just peered down to get a better look at a meat bag and had to shoo away the swarm of tiny insects that rose up angrily upon being disturbed. 

“Who’s this?” asked Dixie, bending down to examine the face of an intact raider lying dead on the floor. “He’s not one of mine.”

Deacon nudged the man with his toe. “Not sure. The real question is who did this to him? I’m guessing it was the proud painter/installation artist.”

Hob tentatively walked to the back room on the first floor. He gagged upon entering the kitchen area. “I’m guessing this is where the…disemboweling occurred.”

Deacon followed, clutching a cloth over his nose and mouth. “No way man. One room wouldn’t make it reek so badly. I’m guessing the whole house is full of human filleting stations.” He studied the bald raider who had suffered a botched arm amputation. The spy pulled a thin piece of paper out of the dead man’s waistband. “Well, well. I do declare. ‘Pickman was here. Find me if you dare.’” Deacon giggled at the unintentional rhyme. “And look at this cute heart drawn in human blood. It’s not very symmetrical, but I guess that’s just artistic license.”

Dixie quietly entered the kitchen and plucked Pickman’s calling card out of Deacon’s hand. “Well c’mon then. Let’s do it! Let’s find this guy.”

Hob’s eyes grew wide, silently pleading with Deacon. “Um, I don’t know about actually finding this Pickman. We were just sent to do a bit of recon around the place.”

She scoffed. “What a bunch of yellow belly fellas! You may have been sent to scout it out, but I’m here to actually do somethin’ about it.”

Deacon turned to Hob. “This place is shocking, even by wasteland standards. Don’t you remember the conversation we had right before arriving here? Isn’t this the point?” he asked, gesturing at the horrors around them. “Watching out for others and making sure our already shitty lives aren’t exacerbated by the Commonwealth’s resident artist psychopath?”

Hob moaned, “Oh God. This was supposed to be easy. Okay, maybe not easy, but simple.”

Dixie fingered the edge of his leather jacket and smiled at him. “Please handsome? You were so willin’ to help me outside. If we take this Pickman out of the equation, why then you’d be helpin’ so many more people. Even if we are just raiders,” she pouted.

Hob stared up at the ceiling and then closed his eyes. “Ugh, fine.” Dixie squealed and wrapped her arms around him.

“Okay, okay. Ease off the goods there, sister.” Deacon pulled her away from Hob. “He’s my snookums. You can’t have him.”

Hob stepped past a small red toolbox and opened the door to the gallery basement. “Are we doing this?”

The raider walked through, winking over her shoulder at Deacon. “Ladies first.”

The three of them crept down a flight of stairs and came to a lower level art studio. Deacon made a sound of revulsion. “Is that paint can full of blood? How nauseating. And what is with these paintings? They give off a real cult leader and human sacrifice vibe. Or is that just too on the nose?”

Hob inspected a nearby chemistry station. “This Pickman must need to mix the blood with something. Look how shiny it is on that canvas.” He sifted through empty bottles and cans scattered around the floor.

Dixie was examining a series of bodies heaped on top of various meat bags. She called out from down below, “Probably a mixture of turpentine and Abraxo. At least that’s what it smells like to me.”

Hob and Deacon exchanged a quick confused glance. Hob started to speak but Deacon lurched forward and grabbed his arm, holding him back and pointing to an object on the ground. “Watch out for the frag mines, my dumpling. If you blow up you might ruin this painting’s potential resale value.”

Hob let out a ragged breath. “Thanks Deacon.” 

“C’mon boys. Mama’s tryna hunt a killer.”

They followed Dixie through a hole in the wall and down a dirt path. They came to a circular room containing a yellow barrel full of nuclear waste.

“Oh I don’t think so!” she yelped, hurrying off to an opening on the right. 

Deacon followed suit, motioning to Hob. “Hey sailor, I know that ghoul skin of yours will protect you from radiation, but the rest of us are not so lucky.”

They continued on the path until it abruptly ended. An enormous sewer pipe protruded from the wall and angled down into disturbingly murky water. “Oh!” exclaimed Dixie. She nearly walked off the edge but grabbed onto the wall. Deacon fought the split second urge to push her into the water. She covered her nose with her hand and gagged slightly. “Oh gross! It smells like rotten mirelurk eggs!”

Once again, Hob was grateful for his lack of a nose. “Is there any way around?”

“I don’t think so tiger,” said Deacon, craning his neck to look past the sewer pipe. “I think we have to jump. Just try to go straight down.” He and Dixie stared at Hob.

“Oh I’m the lucky one? Thanks.” He removed his pack and hoisted it above his head. Hob sat on the edge of the brick and slowly scooted over until he landed in the water with a plop. “It’s not too high. Comes up to mid-thigh or so.”

Deacon followed, splashing more than Hob did. He held out his orange Hawaiian shirt to examine it. “Aw man. My favorite shirt! Now it’s gonna smell for a month. I don’t have enough money to bribe Daisy into washing this for me.”

“Hob, can you catch me?” asked Dixie. She jumped, squeaking slightly as Hob tried to keep her from completely falling into the water. “Thank you honey. You’re such a gentleman.” She squeezed his upper arms. “And so strong too!” Deacon pretended to have a coughing fit. 

They continued on through the sewers, trying not to linger. Dixie started complaining, “Everybody back home better be thankin’ me for weeks on account of my bravery, wadin’ through such rank areas to protect their asses.” 

Once they reached some stone steps, Dixie took the lead. “Careful! I think I saw a mine up ahead.” She turned to Hob, holding him back by putting a hand on his chest. “Watch this.” She crouched down and crawled forward slowly on her knees, intentionally wiggling her butt at the two men behind her. “If you avoid settin’ these off, you can switch ‘em off and keep ‘em. Worth a pretty penny too.” She clicked a button on the side before stuffing it in her pocket. “Voila!” She mimed blowing smoke off the tip of a gun and holstering it.

Deacon rolled his eyes. “Wow, I think you’re the first person to ever disarm a frag mine. The ingenuity, the originality. Why has no one else thought of such a creative solution?” He mimed writing on paper, “Dear Diary, today the most amazing thing happened!”

“Deacon, please for the love of God shut up. Please,” begged Hob. He had started inching along rusty pipes that formed a bridge over the sewer they had just mucked through. “I don’t know how steady these are. Let me concentrate.” Once he successfully made it across he waved the other two along.

“Ooh, purdy!” Dixie rushed forward past Hob to disarm another frag mine on the ground. “You know what, boy? I just saved your fine ass again.” She reached out and playfully squeezed Hob’s butt cheek before throwing Deacon a knowing look.

They continued winding through the dirt paths, keeping their eyes peeled for the glowing red dots of more active mines. Deacon kept grumbling about the overabundance of caution. “Wait, shh,” said Hob, holding his hand up, “I think I hear something up ahead. People.” The three fell silent, listening.

“Finally got you, Pickman,” growled a low voice. “Thought you could hunt and torture our people to your heart’s content? I’m gonna enjoy killing you.”

“Do you really think that’s wise?” asked a silky but dangerous voice.

“Oh my word!” whispered Dixie, clasping a hand over her mouth. She started pointing to the room below. “That’s him! Slab! Now what on earth is goin’ on down there? Sounds like it’s gonna be a real ruckus.” She reached down and unsheathed the knife strapped to her thigh, inching forward toward the male voices.

Peering past her shoulder, Hob counted four figures in the room below. A man with dark, slicked back hair and a plaid vest jacket was holding his hands above his head. “Gentlemen, gentlemen. This is just a small disagreement. I’m sure we can work something out, for the right price of course. If not, then I guarantee you’re going to regret it,” said Pickman. The raiders muttered amongst themselves.

“No!” screamed Dixie. She jumped over the edge and landed lightly in the room. “I won’t let you hurt him!”

“Dammit! Wait!” shouted Deacon. He and Hob rushed forward, groaning as they hit the ground. They looked up in time to see Dixie whirling around with her blade. In one swift motion she slashed the throats of the two raiders standing on either side of Slab. She lithely dodged his uncoordinated attempt to hit her with the butt of his shotgun, and spun around to his front, thrusting her knife into his heart. He breathed out croakily, “You bitch,” and slumped to the ground.

Dixie turned and ran to Pickman, who embraced her and kissed her forehead in a form of absolution. “That was close. Thank you my sweet Dixie. Those people deserved worse than death. I am indebted to you forever.”

“What in the hell is going on?!” shouted Hob, looking frantically between Pickman and Dixie.

“C’mon sugar plum, like you didn’t see this coming? Were you born yesterday?” asked Deacon, walking up behind Hob and bumping into him slightly.

Hob stared at Deacon, eyes bugging out of his head. “NO!” he screamed, jumping a little. “How could I possibly have seen this coming?”

Deacon removed his sunglasses and put them in shirt pocket. He paced back and forth with his hands behind his back, putting on an erudite air. “To know that, we must go back to the beginning. To the scene of the crime, as it were. It takes an experienced ear to hear who’s actually killing who in a gunfight, like the one we stumbled upon before entering this odious gallery. It takes a watchful eye to notice the practiced footsteps of someone who has walked these paths and avoided these land mines many times before. And it takes a superb nose to smell sewage on Miss Dallas Darlin’ well before we ever entered those sewers.” He turned slightly toward his companion and smiled at him, “It’s elementary my dear Hobson.”

Dixie laughed maniacally and hugged Pickman close to her. “What’s the matter Deacon? Jealous of me? You wish you were this clever,” she said, smirking. “You’re just mad that I played you like a fiddle.”

He chuckled mirthlessly, “Oh Dixie, it’s takes a con to know a con.” 

Pickman interrupted, “Pardon me. I do request we all adhere to good manners in my house. Please do not insult my beautiful Dixie. She is my muse, my disciple, my future.” His vacant yet manic eyes fell on her and he smiled disinterestedly as he kissed her again. 

Deacon coughed, hiding an obvious laugh. “Oh I don’t know about that buddy. I think you’ve got no future at all.” In a flash he brought forward a pilfered frag mine from behind his back. He pressed the automatic detonation button and threw it like a frisbee toward Pickman and Dixie. Deacon spun around, grabbed Hob, and pressed him against a wide brick column, shielding him with his muscular body. The blast rocked the room.


	25. The Perfect Disguise

Hob’s ears were still ringing from the explosion. He slowly opened his eyes. The walls were painted red with the blood of multiple people, most of whom were dead before the mine detonated. He gazed up at Deacon, who was staring at him curiously with his piercing blue eyes. “You okay, handsome? Are you hurt?” The spy held Hob’s head and tilted it back and forth, checking for any injuries.

Hob breathed out slowly. “I’m fine. Baffled, but fine.”

Deacon grinned and put his sunglasses back on. He inspected the scattered body parts, stopping at a fragment of head with dark, slicked back hair. He gingerly poked it. “Got you, you bastard.” He scanned the room, searching for something. “Oh motherfucker! I knew it.” Deacon walked over to the exit and crouched down. In the dirt path were several familiar small footprints. “See this?” he pointed at the ground. “She got away.” He rose and interlaced his fingers behind his head. “Fuck!” he shouted.

Hob eyed him warily. “Did you really know who she was that whole time?”

“Mostly,” replied Deacon, shrugging. “I suppose the same deductive reasoning applies to you, Hobby my boy.”

“What do you mean?”

Deacon walked right up to Hob, invading his personal space and calmly accusing him. “You’re not who you say you are.”

Hob rolled his eyes. “You know what, too many things in a row just happened. I am very confused, and very tired, and standing in the middle of a room filled with the assorted body parts of four different dead people. I am leaving this vile place and heading back to Goodneighbor. You may follow me if you wish.” Hob sighed, trudged down the path to an escape ladder, and climbed up it.

Deacon followed, giddy with anticipation. On the surface, he looked around, getting his bearings. “Oh hey, there’s the Old North Church. What a nice place. Very important in the War for Independence. I’ve heard you can find it by walking the Freedom Trail.” 

Hob grunted and began walking south.

“Hey! There will be a history quiz later! You should probably be prepared,” said Deacon, skipping up to Hob and casually throwing an arm around his shoulder. He grunted again and kept walking, ignoring the spy. Deacon was up for the challenge. “Hey Hob. Or is it Hobert? Like how Rob is short for Robert?”

“Please, just,” Hob made a shushing gesture with his hand. “You speak so much. I have decided that every minute you must speak more words than any other human in a five mile radius. An endless verbal stream that never stops babbling. Oy, my head.”

Deacon made a show of covering his mouth with his hand and kept a steady pace next to Hob. They continued until Haymarket Mall, which was completely devoid of human life. 

Hob threw off Deacon’s arm. He walked up to the ramparts surrounding the entrance. “It seems like there should be people here.” He inspected a headless body decoratively impaled on a spike. “Raiders? Where are they?” He looked at Deacon, who shook his head and pointed to the hand covering his mouth. Hob forcefully removed it, glaring at Deacon. “I didn’t mean never talk again. I just meant tone it down a bit. Jeez.”

“Well, big daddy, how was I supposed to know the difference?”

Hob ignored him. “Do you know what happened here? Where is everyone?”

Deacon tried to bite back a sarcastic comment but failed miserably. “Seriously, chief? Seriously? How do you make it through every day? Are you way smarter than you look, or dumber? Because either of those options explain why the most basic, common sense aspects of living in the wasteland seem to escape you. We literally just came from a place where oh-so-many raiders were killed and turned into expressionist paintings. Now here we are, in a scenic location mysteriously lacking in its raider population, and you are still clueless about what happened here. Are. You. Kidding. Me.”

Hob stuck his tongue in the corner of his cheek, trying not to laugh.

“No way!” shouted Deacon, slapping a hand to his forehead. “No fucking way! You got my ass twice in one day. That’s it, mamacita. I’m done. I’m hanging up my fancy duds and officially retiring. I’m getting soft in my old age.” He paused before jabbing Hob in the chest. “Who are you man? Really? Cause it’s throwing off my whole…suave Sherlock thing.” 

Hob frowned at Deacon’s garish Hawaiian shirt. “Do you consider yourself to be suave?”

“I dunno, honeybuns. I used to.” Hob laughed and started to turn when Deacon spoke again, quietly. “I know you’re not a thief. I know you didn’t steal some girl’s bag in Bunker Hill.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Cause you’re a piss-poor thief, otherwise. In the tunnel right before we met Pickman, you didn’t notice me swipe those mines out of Dixie’s pocket. You didn’t notice when I bumped into you and placed a mine in your pocket for you to lob at her. And! You didn’t notice I had a frag in my hands as I was pacing back and forth – in front of you! For a while! I kept vamping, thinking you’d figure it out and throw the damn thing. But nope, nothing. Had to do it myself.”

Hob felt the round outline of the frag mine in his pocket. He removed it and handed it to Deacon, shrugging casually. “It was a weird, stressful situation. The Pickman Gallery is hardly relevant to anything I did in Bunker Hill.”

“Yeah, but,” Deacon rubbed his hands together thoughtfully, “there’s also what Hancock told me last night. Or rather, really early this morning. When he floated the idea of bringing me in on this scouting mission, he mentioned that you knew of me. You didn’t observe anything suspicious about Dixie in the gallery, but somehow, somewhere you noticed me and my holotapes and my sunglasses, in all our shiny, mirrored glory. I know that for you, traveling with me has been about as subtle as the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. But contrary to your isolated experience, I blend in. Pretty much always. Regular wastelanders don’t spare me a passing glance, let alone catalogue my appearance and save it in their memory for safekeeping. I do my rotations in all the major Commonwealth cities and settlements. Bunker Hill, Goodneighbor, Diamond City.”

Hob was jerked out of panic rising inside him. “You hang out in Diamond City? Where?”

Deacon laughed again, a little more frustrated. “See why I’m perplexed? You say shit like that. Why would a ghoul wonder where I hang out in Diamond City?”

“I just thought, um, well I know someone who lives there and I visited them the other day.”

“You’re serious? You’ve been to Diamond City lately? Ok, I’ll bite. Who did you talk to? Where’d you go?”

This felt like a trap but Hob didn’t know how to wiggle out of it. “Um, Takahashi at Power Noodles, the paranoid lady at Diamond City Surplus, Piper and her sister Nat at Publick Occurrences, the mayor’s office, uh…” He was sure mentioning Kellogg was a bad idea, given how strongly Piper had reacted to hearing his name. 

Deacon laughed in disbelief. “You’re telling me you hopped in the elevator and took your happy ass up to see Mayor McDonough? What. No. Look at you! He’d never allow you in, let alone take time out of his day to chat with a ghoul.”

“Well, I, you know, wasn’t always a ghoul,” said Hob, truthfully but with increasing exasperation.

“Right, just like all other ghouls.”

“What do you mean?”

Deacon shook his head. Conversations didn’t usually get away from him. At least not so fast. “You know what, he can explain it better than I can.”

“Huh? Who?”

“Hancock of course. C’mon, let’s leave this eerie, raider-free area and get back to Goodneighbor. We’ll give him our report on the Pickman Gallery, and if I butter him up enough he might tell you about his interesting past.”

Hob sighed. “Sure. If that will make you happy, sweet cheeks.”

Deacon made an inhuman sound and then burst out laughing. “You! You get my ass every time…”

After an uneventful walk back to Goodneighbor, Deacon headed toward the Old State House. “Let me do the talking, stud muffin. Hancock doesn’t like to reminisce about the old days, so it may take some finagling to hear about his younger years. Although, given how you look, it might be easier.”

They climbed the spiral staircase to the second floor. Hancock was not lounging on his usual couch. Deacon turned to the left and walked around a corner. He spotted the mayor lying in his bed, facing the wall, his back to the room. The spy gave Hob a look and quietly walked up to Hancock. “Hey Mister Mayor. We’re back from the Pickman Gallery.”

Hancock rolled over and stretched his arms up, yawning loudly. “Oh hey there Deeks. Didn’t hear ya come up. Had a late night.”

“How unusual.”

Hancock laughed mockingly, “Ha ha. Very funny.” He noticed Hob standing awkwardly behind Deacon. “Nice to see you Hob. Glad my favorite ghoul made it back alive. So what’s the verdict on the gallery?”

Deacon spoke for them. “Weirder shit than we thought. Pickman, who is thankfully now deceased, was abducting raiders, butchering them, and using their various liquid and solid parts to make some beautiful art,” said Deacon morbidly. “Moreover, he had a cute piece of bait, who of course got away, out front luring in unsuspecting saps like this guy here,” he said, jerking his thumb behind him. 

Hob rolled his eyes. “She was hurt! She needed help. I’m not gonna be the kind of person who sees someone suffering and just strolls on by, too busy to get involved.”

Hancock laughed. “After what I saw last night, I’d expect nothing less from you, brother. You had a soft spot for those settlers too.”

“Yeah ‘soft spot’ meaning it’ll probably get me killed one day,” said Hob, looking down and digging at the floor with his toes. “I’m too gullible I guess.”

“No, you’re not gullible. You’re good, Hob. Don’t get those two twisted,” said Hancock firmly. 

Deacon added, “I’ve always said that the big three for predicting people are caps, belief, and ego. If you get a handle on what’s driving someone then you know where you stand with them.” He grabbed a small white chair and pulled it up, elevating his feet on Hancock’s bed. “Hob, you don’t have a whole lot of ego from what I’ve seen. You worked for free to earn caps that are going to end up in someone else’s pocket. And when it comes to belief, you seem to be inclined to help people. So what’s up, buttercup? Where does this whole upstanding citizen shtick come from?”

Hob frowned. He thought Deacon was going to get Hancock to talk, not interrogate him some more. He grabbed a heavy red armchair and dragged it over. It made a creaking, scraping sound across the old floorboards. He sunk into it, crossed one leg over the other, and sighed. “What do you mean?”

Hancock interjected, breathing out a cloud of Jet as he spoke. “What he means is – what’s your story, brother? Where have you been over the years? What other shit have you gotten into?”

Hob narrowed his eyes, “Deacon and I talked about this already. I told him that when I learned of the bombs dropping I was sitting at my desk in Cambridge, where I worked for a genetic engineer.”

Deacon sucked air in between his teeth, unconvinced. “Yeah you did. But no ghoul has willingly talked about that shit to me before. The one living in the Rexford refused to come out of his room. Ham straight up punched me in the nose when I asked him. Daisy banned me from her shop for a month as punishment. I’ve only found success after plying ghouls with multiple dirty warhead cocktails. That’s what it takes to break down the mental walls protecting their memories of October 23, 2077. But you? You just started flapping those gums. Then you launched into some weird philosophical discussion about how all humans fear a violent death, and how peace could be possible if only people didn’t want things. Totally threw me for a loop, that’s for sure.” 

He paused, scrutinizing Hob’s body language for any changes. The synth had shifted slightly, regretting getting distracted with the Railroad holotape instead of doing more research on Clayton’s terminal.

“Moreover, just a bit ago you told me all about your recent sightseeing trip to Diamond City to visit the mayor – a man who has banned all ghoul residents and visitors since 2282!”

Hancock was jolted out of his Jet haze. He shook his head back and forth in confusion. “What! You talked to that moron McDonough? What gives, man? How is that even possible?”

Hob’s mouth went dry. He rubbed his fingers back and forth over his lips, and lightly wiggled the foot hanging over his thigh. Deacon and Hancock were unusually still, observing him.

Hob made up his mind. “Okay, you got me. I don’t think it’s fair to lie to you anymore,” he said, sitting upright and folding his hands on his lap. “I’m not who I say I am.” Hancock raised his eyebrows so high that it was nearly impossible to discern where they ended and his bald head began. Deacon spluttered and his legs dropped off Hancock’s bed with a thud. Hob kept watching them. “Are you two going to say anything?”

Deacon spoke first, “I’m still processing what just happened. I thought I’d have to break out the thumb screws. The next logical question is: who are you really?”

“I’m not a ghoul.”

Deacon paused, waiting, “And?”

“If you’re not a ghoul, then who or what are you?” asked Hancock, eyeing Hob’s appearance carefully.

“Thomas Bayes.”

Deacon made a loud sound of recognition. “Oh Mister Bayes! I remember you. You came in the front gate of Diamond City with a young boy and Conrad Kellogg, talking about how you traveled to the Commonwealth for a fresh start. Then you guys headed straight up in the elevator to see McDonough. Dammit. How’d I miss this? I owe Danny 20 caps. He knew something was off about your little group.”

It was Hob’s turn to be confused. “How could you possibly know all that?”

Deacon laughed, shaking his head, “Cause I was there, my queen. Wearing my D.C. security garb and standing literally two feet away from you.”

Hob groaned slightly, “Of course you were.”

“Wait a minute,” said Hancock, “you went to Diamond City and just waltzed out looking like this? I don’t buy it.”

Hob thought of the shops in the Diamond City marketplace. “There’s a place there called the Mega Surgery Center,” he improvised.

“Oh boy. Let me guess. Doc Crocker? Now that I’ve met Pickman, I’m pretty sure he and Crocker have gotten together and had terrorist tea parties before, exchanging stories and giggling about the various ways to remove skin from a human.” Deacon shuddered. “Crocker does all my face swaps. In fact, I bet I’m the reason why your ghoul appearance was even possible. I was his test subject for that experiment about,” he hummed, counting on his fingers, “jeez 12 years ago now. Time flies when you’re having fun. I spent a whole month as a ghoul. Freaked a lot of people out.”

Hob was surprised, but decided to go with Deacon’s story. “Yep. Crocker can do a lot of things. I’m sure his surgical skills have only improved over the years.”

“Wait,” said Hancock, trying to keep track of all this new information. “That still doesn’t explain how you got out of Diamond City looking like that without the mayor’s goon squad shooting you down in the middle of the market.”

Hob shrugged, relaxing into the lie he was spinning for the two men. “It’s not really unusual to see someone wearing a mask that obscures their whole face.”

“Okay, so you left Diamond City and headed straight to my town?”

Hob nodded. “After visiting D.C., my next stop was Goodneighbor. I knew ghouls were welcome here.”

Deacon narrowed his eyes. “Which brings us to another inconsistency in your story, ‘Mister Bayes’ or ‘Hob’ or whatever we should call you.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a folded scrap of paper, and handed it to Hancock to read out loud. 

“Let’s see here, ’Scribe Haylen – radio frequency: AF95’. Whoa!” Hancock dropped the paper on the bed as if it burned him. “What the hell, Bayes? Are you working for the Brotherhood?”

Deacon snatched the paper back, peered at Hob over the rim of his sunglasses, and chimed in, “That’s what I’d like to know.” He stood up and began pacing, echoing his Sherlock Holmes performance at the Pickman Gallery. “Let’s see, you just came to the Commonwealth, looking for a fresh start. You were accompanied by a young boy, perhaps the Brotherhood squire you’re training? You suck at theft-related observations, but paid enough attention to commit my handsome face to memory. You rush to the defense of helpless citizens because you’re apparently so noble you can’t help it. And of course, the radio frequency – the most incriminating piece of evidence.”

Hob spluttered, trying to regain his composure. “But I’m sitting before you, looking like a ghoul. The Brotherhood hates ghouls! I could get shot on sight. Why would I want to risk that?”

Hancock rubbed his temples. “It’s a risk, sure. But it’s also the perfect disguise. You can do recon here in Boston and no one would ever think you’re with the Brotherhood. You’ve hit the major settlements but aren’t familiar with the geography or history of the area like a native would be. You bastard. I bet you’ve been sending them intel about us this whole time.” 

Deacon hummed in agreement with Hancock. “He’s right, as usual. There’s only one hiccup.”

“What?” asked Hob, dreading whatever else Deacon was about to say.

“Everyone knows the Brotherhood of Steel has absolutely no sense of humor. And you,” he pointed at Hob, grinning, “got my ass not once but twice today.” 

Hob breathed a sigh of relief. “So you do believe me? That I’m not Brotherhood?”

Deacon and Hancock exchanged a quick glance. “Nope,” replied the mayor, pulling a 10mm pistol from underneath his pillow and pointing it at Hob. “But there’s only one way to find out.”


	26. The Memory Den

Hob raised his arms up instinctively. “Don’t shoot! What is going on? Why can’t I catch a break today?” he asked, exasperated. He glanced around the room. “I see there’s Psycho sitting on the table over there. Is that what’s causing this sudden aggression Mayor Hancock? Last night you were practically euphoric. You hugged me so tightly Fahrenheit had to pry me off you.”

“By the by, where is Fahr anyway?” asked Deacon casually. 

“Sent her on a little mission. Top-secret. You’ll understand if I can’t discuss it in front of the Brotherhood spy.” Hancock jerked his head toward Hob.

“Oh my God, I’m not a Brotherhood spy! I’m not infiltrating your precious Goodneighbor for some dark, nefarious purpose.”

“You’re doth protesting too much, my lady,” said Deacon, raising an eyebrow.

Hancock gestured with the pistol, “Yeah, besides, it’s the only explanation that makes sense. Otherwise, your story is that your name is Thomas Bayes and you became a ghoul for no reason. Just for a fun change to the old routine? I don’t know anyone who would do that. Nah, I smell a rat.” 

“You know what, Hancock? You’re right. Given our location, I’d say there’s one easy way to find out if Scribe Bayes – I mean Paladin Hob – is telling the truth.”

Hancock chuckled, “Smart man Deeks. Why don’t you run down and give Irma a heads-up? I’ll walk down with the traitor here, real casual like.” Deacon sprinted off. Hancock stepped toward Hob. “Put your hands down. You look like a damn fool. We’re gonna leave here now. You’ll walk right in front of me without making any sudden moves, got it?”

Hob made a noise of agreement in his throat, aggravated but relieved that the mayor wasn’t about to shoot him on the spot. They descended the stairs and exited the Old State House through the north door. Hancock nodded at a non-ghoul neighborhood watchman standing guard outside the building. “Hey what’s up, Norm? Nice night,” he observed, exhaling deeply and looking up at the stars. The mayor turned and waved to a group of drifters, pointing at each of them amiably. “Hey guys – Sammy, Lynn, Gino. You staying dry? I told you if that shack roof starts leaking go see Rufus in the Rexford. Don’t worry about the caps. He knows I’m good for it.”

Hob turned and mumbled over his shoulder, “Well isn’t that interesting. You’re so kind and yet I’ve got a pistol digging into my back.”

“Hey,” growled Hancock. “Watch it. These are my people. It’s my job to protect ‘em. You, on the other hand, are currently a threat to their safety just by being here.” He pushed Hob forward a bit, loudly remarking, “Oh yes, you’re gonna love the Memory Den, brother! Biggest tourist attraction in Goodneighbor!”

Hob had trouble swallowing. “What are we doing there?”

“Boy I see what Deacon meant. You can be really daft sometimes,” said Hancock, shaking his head as they passed under a large sign for Scollay Square.

Inside the Memory Den, an elegant older woman in a feathery dress beckoned Hob and Hancock forward. “Oh hello my darlings. So good of you to come visit me.” Deacon was standing behind her, lightly massaging her neck and shoulders. “My friend here said you’re in need of my assistance?” She gracefully rose from her chaise lounge and held out her hand to Hancock. He took it and kissed it chivalrously. “Come my pretties. Let’s not bother my customers with our private affairs,” she said, waving her hand toward the basement. Irma led the way. At the bottom of the stairs she knocked on a blue door. “Amari? Sweetheart? They’re here.” She looked at Hancock and chuckled. “Your witness, Mister Mayor.” Irma winked at Deacon and headed back upstairs, closing the door most of the way.

A tall Indian woman holding a clipboard approached Hob, squinting slightly. “Hmm, yes, I see,” she said while circling him. “An expert surgery to be sure. You must have paid Crocker quite a pretty penny for this visage.”

Hob was barely listening to her. He couldn’t take his eyes off of two egg-shaped pods on either side of the room. A television screen was connected to each pod’s glass hatch. From each pod huge cables snaked up to wide turquoise consoles. 

He turned back to Amari, “Um, wait, hang on. What exactly is happening here? Why do those memory things have television screens? Are you all going to, I mean, will you be able to,” babbled Hob, realizing too late that maybe it would have been preferable if Hancock had simply put him out of his misery.

Deacon laughed, “What a delayed reaction. Glad we’re all on the same page now.”

“No, no, this is a very bad idea. Very bad. For all of you. Trust me,” said Hob, inching backward toward the door.

Hancock pocketed the 10mm in his coat before reaching out and gripping Hob’s arm with surprising strength. “Nope. You’re staying right here sunshine. The show’s about to start,” he said, waggling his brows.

Doctor Amari finished fiddling with settings on her terminal. “I think we’re ready to proceed. Mister, um, Hob is it? Please take a seat in the memory lounger on the left.”

Hob stood rooted to the spot. Hancock dragged him forward until Hob tripped into the pod. The mayor laughed. “Nice and easy. There we go. Get real cozy. If you try to bolt we’re going to have to strap you in there, so be a good boy and do as daddy says.” He and Deacon closed the glass hatch of the lounger and latched it. 

“Just lean back. A bit more. There,” said Amari, watching as Hob’s head came in contact with the memory pod’s neural assembly. She returned to her terminal. In Hob’s peripheral vision he saw Deacon and Hancock standing on either side, crouching down to get a look at the television screen. 

“That’s strange,” said Amari, frowning. “I’m not picking up a connection. Mister Hob, are you fully in contact with the assembly?” Hob nodded, too nervous to use words. “Please don’t move your head. You will need to be very still in order for this to work.” She hummed while typing on her keyboard. “Nope. Nothing.” She walked back over to the pod and looked at Hob, his reflection distorted by the curved glass. “Is there something you’re not telling me? Something about the nature of your being?”

“Why yes Amari, there is. That’s the whole reason we’re down here,” said Deacon sarcastically.

She rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t asking you Deacon.” She turned back to Hob, “I’m going to have to request that you to move into this other lounger, please.”

Hancock frowned as he unlatched the glass. The mayor offered a hand to Hob and helped hoist him from the low, reclined seat. Hob settled into the other pod, cautiously optimistic that maybe this strange process was simply not going to work for him. He assumed that these so-called memory loungers were made for humans, not synths wearing ghoul costumes.

“Same request as before, Mister Hob. Press your head completely against the neural assembly.” Amari constantly adjusted settings on her terminal, much like trying to find the correct frequency of a radio station. 

As he was waiting, Hob saw his breath fog up the glass. A half-formed memory popped into his head: the pods reminded him of how his creator’s mother was still frozen in a Vault 111 cryo-pod. These intrusive memory devices were probably also the result of Vault-Tec’s unsettling experiments. Hob felt a rush of protectiveness, a powerful urge to go save Susan Calvin.

“Aha! Finally got a lock on the signal. No wonder.” Amari looked over at Hob, “This would have gone a lot quicker if you’d simply told me you are a synth.”

Deacon and Hancock whipped their heads around in shock. “What!” they gasped in unison. 

Hob’s heart sank. All the tension holding his limbs firmly by his side escaped him. The synth deflated like a balloon. The charade had come to an end. He was surprised by how much he enjoyed his time in Goodneighbor. Hob was relieved that he had completed his mission before being discovered. He wasn’t sure what might transpire, but he recalled Kellogg’s description of what would happen to Mayor McDonough – kicked to the curb with all the other defectives. A sad, audible sigh passed Hob’s lips. He was startled by the opening of the hatch.

Deacon removed his sunglasses, kneeled on the floor, and clasped both his hands around Hob’s hand. “Why didn’t you just tell me?” he asked softly. “You already figured out I work for the Railroad. Our whole mission in life is helping synths. Are you in some sort of trouble? Do you need help?” Hob tried to steady his breathing as he gazed back at Deacon.

Meanwhile, Amari had been reviewing the brief memory that her terminal had captured. She kept rewinding it to the beginning, unsure if the memory had no sound or if her terminal was malfunctioning. “I’m sorry to interrupt Mister Hob,” she said quietly, “but are you from a vault?”

Hancock’s jaw dropped. “There’s a vault full of synths out there?”

Hob felt a flush spread across his face. If his skin wasn’t already red, he would have been blushing. Three people stared intensely at him, radiating varying degrees of compassion, pity, and confusion. Hob couldn’t take it. A familiar dizzy sensation began overwhelming him. A slow-moving dark circle appeared in front of his eyes. The tunnel gradually shrunk until Hob fainted. 

“Watch his head,” chided Amari. “Gently now.”

Deacon scooped up Hob from the seat of the memory lounger and placed him in a recumbent position on the faded red couch. He cradled the back of Hob’s head, propping it up slightly. Hancock hovered anxiously behind them. After a few minutes, Hob’s eyes fluttered open, trying to focus. He gazed up at Deacon, who broke into a sincere smile. “Well hey there, tato tot. Welcome back to the land of the conscious. You feel like getting back up on that horse, cowboy?” He firmly grasped Hob’s neck and reached his other arm around the small of Hob’s back, pulling him up gently into a seated position.

Doctor Amari scooched next to Hob on the couch and rubbed his back soothingly. “Take your time Mister Hob. Deep inhale for five seconds. Good. Now long exhale for ten seconds. Very good. Keep doing that. Nice, slow breaths. That will counteract the panic attack.” She held his wrist, counting something on her watch. “Your pulse is back to normal. It would be safe for you to stand up now.”

Hancock extended his hand, grabbing Hob’s and pulling him to his feet. “Scared the crap out of us there, sunshine. Having a crazy breakthrough and then blacking out? That’s my territory,” he said, half smiling. 

Hob hadn’t yet spoken. He was terrified of saying the wrong thing, of breaking whatever tenuous peace currently existed in this room. He turned to Amari. “How do you know I’m a synth?” he asked slowly. “And why do you think I’m from a vault?”

Deacon frowned and put his sunglasses back on. “What was in that memory, Doctor Amari?”

She ushered Hob over to the memory terminal. Everyone crowded around while she replayed the silent video. Hob’s memory began with a first-person view of someone walking down a row of pods. Each pod was laid flat on its back like a casket. The person looked down at each pod, but the faces of the inhabitants were obscured by frost on the glass. The first-person view turned around, and ran back down a wide metal hallway, frantically moving back and forth as if looking for someone. A faceless figure in a lab coat appeared. The view zoomed in on the breast pocket, which bore three embroidered number ones. The screen went black. 

Hob turned around and found all the humans looking at him intensely. “Please don’t do that. You’ll cause me to panic and lose consciousness again.”

Hancock looked up and started whistling. Amari resumed typing on her terminal. Deacon moved slightly away from Hob. “You’re sure he’s a synth?”

She raised a sarcastic eyebrow. “Deacon, this isn’t my first rodeo.”

“Why did you think that was the interior of a vault?” asked Hancock. “That could have been any number of places. Weird pre-war government sites or some hospital or something.”

She sighed. “True. But you are familiar with my background, Mayor Hancock. This memory bore a lot of similarities to what I witnessed when dismantling the tranquility loungers in Vault 112 in the Capital Wasteland before bringing them here. Based on the lab coat embroidery, I’d say Hob was remembering Vault 111. It’s anyone’s guess where that vault is located.”

“What about the rows of popsicles?” asked Deacon.

“Don’t call them that,” said Hob, anger flaring within him. “Those are human beings. Well, they were human beings. Now they’re dead. All except one – Susan Calvin. I need to find that vault and rescue her before she dies while frozen in suspended animation. The idea of saving her is all I can think about.”

“Wait, you’ve never been there? You’re not a vault dweller? Then how do you have this in your head?” asked Hancock.

“Ah, it must be a memory of the moment when you learned of Vault 111. What you imagined it to be like, especially the act of trying to save this woman,” said Amari thoughtfully.

“That’s right,” said Hob, annoyed at everyone. “But instead of taking any action out there, I’m in here, being poked and prodded because you two accused me of being a Brotherhood spy and opted to poke around inside my brain. I hope you can see now how ridiculous that theory was.”

“The Brotherhood?” asked Amari, alarmed. “Have they sent their soldiers up here? I guess no place is safe from them. It won’t be long before they’re knocking down the door to the Memory Den, laying claim to the memory loungers as well as a decade of my neurology research.” 

“No fucking way,” said Hancock boldly. “They’ll each have to personally kiss my bony ghoul ass before they come stomping through the Goodneighbor gate. I got your back Amari. You and Irma are the backbone of this town,” he said, smiling broadly at her.

Deacon was observing Hob, confident that they were at least headed in the direction of the truth. Still, something nagged at the back of his mind. “You’ve never actually explained how you came to possess the paper with the Brotherhood military radio frequency.”

Hob hesitated, biting his lip. The lies had built up for too long and now the dam broke. “I told you, I didn’t always look like a ghoul. I used to look like a human. Two different humans, in fact. But I am basically an infant! From my perspective, I am only two weeks old. I was thrown out into the wasteland even though I don’t know anything about fighting and when I was in College Square these raider bullies were being all harassing and scary and then these feral ghouls appeared out of nowhere and they were growling so I hid but I didn’t need to because these three Brotherhood people came and saved me,” he finished breathlessly. 

Deacon was watching him with wide eyes, filing away all this information for future reference. 

Hob continued, “The scribe gave me their frequency in case I saw any suspicious synths around.” He gestured up and down his body, “So fuck me I guess! Basically, I forgot that paper was even in my bag until you took it out. Wait, I mean when you stole it and then started interrogating me. I made up a quick lie to get you off my back. I didn’t know it would come to this.”

Amari gaped at Hob. One part of his breathless diatribe in particular stuck out to her. “You used to look like two different people? Besides this ghoul here now? Institute scientists can continuously change the appearance of a single synth? But how?”

Hob sat down on the couch again. Amari’s equipment could detect he was a synth, so of course she knew all about The Institute. “Oh God, I wish you hadn’t asked about my appearance. It’s so revolting. It’s not as bad as the Pickman Gallery, but it’s definitely in that direction.”

Deacon and Hancock exchanged a look. “How bad are we talking here?” asked Hancock nervously.

Hob groaned, holding his head in his hands. He looked at them, feeling like he was teetering on the edge of revealing too much. “Imagine if you commissioned Pickman to make suits for a synth to wear. Do you get the picture?”

Deacon gagged a little. “Ugh, nasty. And that’s what you’re wearing right now?” He eyed Hob’s exposed skin and took a step back.

“Yes. Don’t remind me. The scientists called them ‘vestures’. The revelation of where these came from shook me to my core. My programming tells me that human lives are more important than mine. I’m compelled to assist humans, even if it puts me in danger. When I realized I was actually wearing people, I was horrified, to put it mildly. In fact, I fainted then too. This humanskin suit goes against everything I believe, well, what I’m programmed to believe. But this one scientist assured me no one was harmed to make the vestures. The people were already dead. That seems to happen a lot in the wasteland, which is something else that horrifies me.” 

Deacon had made a ‘eureka’ sound. “Ohhh. Now I get it. That’s why you’re always helping people. You literally cannot help it, pardon the pun.” 

“Right. I have to save Susan Calvin from her cryo-pod. It’s starting to feel like an obsession. My driving mission is to unfreeze her. That’s why I helped the settlers – so they can also help her.”

Hancock interrupted, “Wait, what do you mean? You didn’t just perform a random act of do-goodedness?”

Hob fiddled with his jacket buttons. “I wasn’t infiltrating Goodneighbor to get information on this town. I was simply sent to help Preston’s group. And once I learned of MacCready and realized he was a means to protect them, I then had to help him. But in order to help him, I had to help you,” he gestured toward Hancock. “One thing led to another, and I got distracted with different side tasks, but here we are. And now I need to return to the scientists to find out the next task I must complete in order to help Susan.”

Deacon sat on the couch next to Hob and held the side of his face, searching his eyes. “But don’t you see, now that you’ve told us all this I can help you. Lead me to these scientists. I can bring some Railroad friends. We’ll help free you from being a slave to The Institute’s commands. Then you can live how you want,” said Deacon earnestly, rubbing his thumb over the ridges of the vesture’s cheek. Hob was momentarily stunned by the spy’s impassioned plea.

Hob stood up quickly, shaking his head. “No, no, no! Deacon, please no. You can’t follow me. Please. I told you accessing my memory would be bad for you. It will somehow endanger your lives. I understand that you want to help me but you can’t. It’s impossible. Just leave me alone.”

Hob rose and pushed through the blue door, bolting up the staircase. He ran through the upper floor of the Memory Den, knocking vases off tables, and out into the night air. Hob sprinted past the entrance to the Third Rail, curved right around the Old State House, and pushed through the Goodneighbor gate. He immediately crashed into X6-88 and fell backwards. The courser roughly grabbed his upper arm and dragged Hob to the Mass Fusion building.

As Hob tried to get his feet to touch the ground, he heard Deacon and Hancock shouting somewhere behind him. The moment the Mass Fusion doors closed, X6 calmly spoke to his wrist, “Two. Now.” A blue flash appeared and the building was empty.

Deacon and Hancock arrived a minute later, panting heavily. Deacon looked around frantically. “Fuck!” he shouted, grabbing a display case and throwing it to the ground. He slumped down, crunching his knees in the broken glass.

“Where the hell are they?” asked Hancock, squinting up to the higher floors of the building.

“They’ve disappeared as usual,” croaked Deacon. “The person that snatched Hob was an Institute courser. I ran into him several days ago coming here from Bunker Hill, right after I – “ Deacon blinked rapidly and smacked his forehead hard.

“After what?” said Hancock twitchily, jumpy at the prospect of a courser hiding in the shadows.

“Right after I gave a Railroad holotape to this scared blond girl sitting outside. I thought she was a synth, and I was right. She was the same girl whose bag Hob supposedly swiped. Shit! That was him. It had to have been. He’s the blond girl, he’s Thomas Bayes, he’s Hob the ghoul. He told us we’d be in danger if we found out what he knew, and now he’s the one in trouble. They sent a courser to Goodneighbor to extract him. And probably to terminate him,” Deacon grimaced. 

Hancock grit his teeth. “The Institute better stay outta my town.”

“I don’t think you have to worry about that now. They got what they wanted. The real question is: why is The Institute obsessed with a woman in a cryo-pod and Preston’s group? Wherever those settlers are going, I guarantee they’re headed right for Vault 111. Dammit. The last time I saw them they had crossed the bridge to Bunker Hill.” Deacon banged his fist against the side of his head.

Hancock smiled, “Then it’s a good thing I sent Fahrenheit to intercept them.”


	27. Connect the Dots

Back in The Institute, instead of heading directly to the elevator, X6 passed the Institute scientist manning the relay and stopped next to a rusted door. “J9-39, why did you fail to meet me at the designated time and rendezvous point?”

Hob was still trying to catch his breath from his hasty departure. “What? I didn’t know there was a set meeting place.”

The flinty courser stared at Hob from behind his sunglasses. “We passed the message to Marowski. He must have failed to deliver it to you. This failure means he should be stripped of his duties as an SRB informant. I will recommend termination.”

“Oh no, I don’t think that’s necessary,” stuttered Hob. “It was definitely my fault that I didn’t get the message. I wasn’t even in Goodneighbor all day, and when I returned I was…delayed. I’m sorry X6. I hope you didn’t worry about me.”

“I was not worried about you,” he replied calmly. “But I am annoyed.” The courser turned and headed to the elevator. “Come along, J9.”

Hob hurried after him. “So,” he asked, aiming for casual, “is it the same pattern as the previous two times? Go to Alan for testing and then to Clayton for vesture removal? When can I talk to Father?”

“Father is resting right now. He does not want to be disturbed. The others are asleep as well. They need to do that every night,” said X6, who was continually aggravated by human weakness.

“Okay, so what should I do? I don’t have any quarters.”

The elevator arrived at the bottom floor. X6 thought for a moment, glancing up at the soaring Institute atrium. He wrinkled his nose. “Your clothing is revolting. I can tell you have been in close contact with both blood and sewage. Perhaps it is best if you do not wander around, contaminating The Institute. Go directly to BioScience and wait there until Dr. Holdren begins the day’s work.” 

Hob sniffed his jacket collar. “Sorry, I can’t smell very well with this ghoul nose.”

The synth had never been to BioScience when it was empty. Most of the bright fluorescent lights were dimmed, with the exception of a few concentrated lights placed over hydroponic beds growing dark leafy greens. Hob looked around for Dogmeat but saw no sign of him. He walked over to the gorilla enclosure and sat cross-legged on the floor in front of it. He eyed the transparent tape covering a star-shaped pattern where the glass had cracked. Hob frowned. He wondered if the gorillas had caused that.

“Hey guys. How are you doing in there?”

The silverback gorilla closest to him was sitting down, scratching its belly lazily while shoving leaves into its mouth.

“Glad to hear it,” said Hob, watching it chew. “You’re pretty lucky I guess. Your lives seem uncomplicated. My life used to be uncomplicated too. But then,” Hob sighed. “I don’t know. My head is this constant jumble of how things should be fighting with the way things are. And I can’t reconcile any of it because every time I think I know what’s going on, I meet someone new or go someplace weird and then I’m back to square one.”

“Oooh, oooh,” the other gorilla grunted softly.

“Exactly. You understand. I’ve been to the surface three times now. I’ve met humans who are so confusing and mean but somehow nice at the same time. I think,” Hob paused, “I think I’ve actually developed friendships. Or whatever you’d call the relationship between a human and a synth. Carla was aware of my true nature, and she tried to keep me safe. Piper, well she got scared after I mentioned Kellogg, but before that she was really approachable. Is Mayor Hancock my friend? I dunno. He’s always on different chems and I don’t know what he’s like deep down. And Deacon? He’s the real deal. Sure he makes dumb jokes and never calls anyone the proper name, but he was so understanding and compassionate once he found out what I really am. There he was, talking to a synth without his sunglasses. Like we were on equal footing. He looked at me so intensely with these eyes, these penetrating blue eyes. I think he was seeing straight through the vesture to the ‘me’ underneath. It was almost too much to handle. I thought the heat from his stare might melt my components.” He fanned his face, certain that the temperature controls in BioScience were faulty. 

The synth gorilla picked its nose and examined its finger carefully before sticking it in its mouth.

“Oh come on, he’s not that bad.”

The gorilla got up and walked off, padding quietly on its knuckles.

“Well fine, be like that. I guess we’re not friends, are we?” Hob stood up and followed the curving wall, squinting to see rows of plants much higher up. He idly wondered how Clayton was tall enough to reach these plants. Hob turned left and noticed a doorway to a side room. The entrance was hidden behind the tall wall of plants, so the synth never spotted it in his previous visits to BioScience.

After opening the door, Hob immediately halted, breathing hard. In the center of the room were two enormous glass cylinders. Each one contained a super mutant suspended in a clear green liquid. They were gently bobbing up and down. An eerie green light flooded the room and reflected on the ceiling.

He took another step forward. The closer of the two super mutants appeared to have its eyes closed. Hob wondered if it was dead, or in some sort of stasis like Susan Calvin. He breathed more slowly, confident that at least these super mutants wouldn’t attack him like the ones in the construction site in Cambridge.

Hob gazed around the room. His eye fell on an orange holotape sitting on a nearby console. He picked it up and glanced over his shoulder, making sure no one was watching him. The synth rushed to a terminal on the other side of the room and played the holotape:

“This is Dr. Elliott, reporting for the BioScience Division. March 2224. We just received another batch of…subjects. But as my previous report stated, we’re at an impasse here. More of the same won’t help. The two most promising strains of the Forced Evolutionary Virus have been adapted to an ideal state, but we’re still missing something. I am officially echoing the team’s position – the most likely progress for our research on synthetic organics requires new avenues of exploration. Additional Commonwealth subjects will not help. It’s the same problem across the board: exposure to too much radiation. We need something – someone – new. There’s a proposal we’ll be putting forward. I am not entirely comfortable with it, but it seems the best course.”

Hob ejected the holotape and returned it to exactly where he found it, considering its message and trying to connect the dots. In 2224, this Dr. Elliott suggested finding someone radiation-free in order to continue synth research. Hob scanned his internal files. Father said he was retrieved from Vault 111 in 2227. The Broken Mask Incident had occurred in 2229. 

The pieces finally clicked into place. The Institute was no better than Vault-Tec. In fact, it was even more despicable. Institute scientists had experimented on an infant – on Father – despite his inability to consent, and the result of these experiments were the third-gen synths like Mister Carter who were capable of indiscriminately killing human beings. 

Hob shook his head rapidly. They had it wrong. All wrong! Why was The Institute acting backward to how they should be? 

He rushed back to the terminal. He found a file called Subject Status and read it breathlessly. Subject CM-151: discarded. Subject CF-224: deceased. Subject CM-153: tagged, discarded. Subject CM-092: terminated. Hob kept clicking on subject after subject, dismayed at the dawning realization of who he was reading about. 

He turned around and looked at the super mutants floating in the glass cylinders. Hob walked up to the glass and reached out his hand, comparing it to the massive super mutant hand. “You were once a person,” said Hob sadly. “And you died in order to further research on synths.” He glanced at the other super mutant. “Why did they terminate you? Were you too friendly for a super mutant? I guess they only discard the violent ones. Probably dump them on the surface, scared and alone and with no preparation. Thrown away like an empty Nuka Cola bottle on a trash heap.”

“Sounds about right.”

Hob’s knees collapsed from the shock of being discovered. He looked up from the ground to find an enormous super mutant staring at him through…a pair of glasses? It reached out its hand, offering to help Hob up. The synth reached out tentatively and was hoisted up as if he weighed nothing. “I, I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t be in here. Or maybe I can? It’s not clear to me. I’ll leave right now.” 

“Wait,” said the super mutant in a deep rumbling voice. “You must be the new one. The fourth gen who wears people.”

A shiver went up and down his spine. “The name’s Hob and ugh, don’t remind me.” He touched the side of his face, patting the skin of each cheek. “I just discovered the sickening truth about vestures a couple days ago. I’m still not sure how to process that information.”

The super mutant raised an eyebrow questioningly. “Oh. Well that’s interesting. Your personality matrix finds that as morally reprehensible as I do. I guess Alan’s doing something right over in Robotics.”

Hob nodded slowly, “Yes. Indeed. Um, not to be rude but who are you? Why are you,” Hob gestured at the super mutant’s attire, “wearing all that?”

“I’m Brian Virgil. I work here in the BioScience FEV lab. Well, ‘worked’ past tense. This damn body makes it so hard to hold a pen or think clearly without randomly being overcome with unbridled fury.”

“Did The Institute force you to be part of this experiment? I wouldn’t put it past them,” said Hob bitterly.

Virgil gaped at Hob for a moment. “You’re different from how I imagined. Anyway, no I wasn’t forced into it. I’ve worked on FEV research all my life. I took over from Dr. Syverson, the previous project manager, a little over a year ago. Once I gained access to the complete project records I saw how futile the super mutant project was. Kept trying to get the Director to shut down this damn experiment but he refused to listen to me. In a last ditch effort to show how insidious the FEV is, I injected myself with a mild version of it. But Shaun didn’t care. I flew into a rage and accidentally destroyed almost everything in here.” He guiltily looked around at the destruction and then laughed. “It was worth it though. Got people talking, reflecting on what The Institute has done over the years. Humans don’t notice the little things but they sure remember a grand rebellious action, especially if it’s destructive.”

“Like the bombs.”

“I would hardly compare my outburst here to the Great War, but yeah.”

“Have you ever been to the surface? Have you seen the results of the nuclear conflagration?”

Virgil shifted uncomfortably. “Unfortunately yes. We had to go up to the surface to find appropriate test subjects for the FEV. I think some of the unruly ones ended up as those little skin suits you wear.”

Hob’s heart started beating faster. He felt the familiar sensation of his mouth drying out. “Oh God. Oh no. I shouldn’t have believed him, should I? Clayton said the vestures were made from people who were already dead. He said it was like they donated their bodies for scientific advancement. Are you saying The Institute killed humans for me? For a synth?”

The super mutant groaned. “I thought you knew. You said you discovered the truth and found it reprehensible.” Virgil coughed slightly, remembering the former human whose face now appeared in front of him. “Yes, your vesture was alive when he was brought here. He was pleasant to chat with. Mister Kim – he was this Korean guy who escaped communist Chinese rule and came to America. He said he chose the east coast because it was as far away from Asia as possible. But of course the Chinese bombed Boston and Kim ended up as a ghoul. He worked on some tarberry bog. And now you’re wearing him.”

Hob sank to his knees. “This man survived all that and then died to benefit a synth?”

Virgil tried to pat Hob’s back sympathetically but ended up smacking him too hard. “Oh sorry. Can’t control these appendages. If it makes you feel better, Clayton is working on synthetic vestures. Maybe because of what you said to him. But it’s hard to do synthetic research without a real human to work from. We always need a basic genetic structure to build on. The current subject is down there.” He gestured to a doorway leading to a rusty metal hallway illuminated by a red light.

“There’s someone here? A surface dweller is here right now?”

“Yes. I actually got into a bit of a blow-up with the Director over her. I believe it’s unethical to hold her for no real reason. She’s unharmed but she’s locked in that room like some sort of prisoner.”

Hob held his head in his hands and mumbled, “Father is doing this for me. I don’t get it.”

“Neither do I. He refuses to tell anyone besides the Directorate about his plans. There’s no transparency in this place. Due to operational security we don’t truly know what happens in other divisions, so everyone works based on this vague idea of advancing humankind. There’s nothing clear-cut, no uniform set of objectives for our research.”

“I know what Father’s plan is. Well, what he’s told me at least.”

Virgil stared. “You’re serious? What is it?” he asked breathlessly.

“Father was rescued from suspended animation in a cryo-pod in Vault 111 exactly 60 years ago. Kellogg lied on the official report and said both of Shaun’s parents were killed. In reality, his mother is still alive but frozen. I am supposed to save her and assist her in reuniting with Father, assuming she wants to, that is.”

The super mutant growled and punched a console, knocking it to the floor. “That selfish bastard! He doesn’t want to help humanity progress. All he wants is to see if his mommy still loves him!” Virgil paced back and forth, rattling a surgical tray sitting on a table. “That’s it. That was the straw that broke the camel’s back. I’m officially done.” He removed a holotape from the makeshift bag slung crossways over his body. “I’m putting this here,” said Virgil, placing the tape next to the terminal. “I’m going to tell you something I haven’t said out loud to anyone, not even Madison. I’m escaping. I’ve been thinking about it for a while. I can’t stay in The Institute any longer. With this radiation-resistant body, I’ll be able to survive on the surface. I can live out the rest of my days in peace knowing I’m not hurting anybody.”

“Where will you go? Everything up there is so dangerous. The humans will try to kill you because they know super mutants to be violent.”

Virgil paused. “Then I’ll have to go where there are no humans.” He started mumbling to himself, “Might need to adjust the relay. Don’t think it usually goes there.”

“Are you talking about the molecular relay? I just came from there. An Institute scientist is still sitting at the console. But maybe you can wait until a shift change? There is a rusted door nearby. Perhaps you could hide behind it until you find the right moment to escape.”

The super mutant clapped Hob’s shoulder. “You’re all right pal. Thank you.” He turned to leave but spoke over his shoulder, “Maybe we’ll meet again someday.”


	28. Jesus Wept

Hob watched Virgil go. It felt strange, but not bittersweet, like when he said goodbye to Carla in Bunker Hill. This was different. He was actually happy to see Virgil leave. His departure meant that change was possible – that humans, or former humans, could be disgusted with themselves and want to be better. Virgil didn’t just sit around thinking about doing something. He took action. Hob realized that this strange underground world of The Institute was not static and immutable. It could be improved.

Hob turned on his heel and briskly walked down the metal hallway leading out of the FEV lab. “Hello?” he called out. “Is someone here?”

An Irish voice responded, “Hey! You there! Get your arse over here.”

He came around a corner and saw a surly redhead glowering at him from inside an observation room. Hob rushed up to the glass, “Oh my God! Are you okay?” He noticed how pale her skin was.

“I’m starving, thank you. These vault scientists have only been feeding me radrabbit food. Salads for days. I want something real, or at least sweet. God I could go for some Fancy Lads right about now.” She paced back and forth, scratching her arm and twitching a little. 

“Um, I can’t help you with that,” replied Hob, thinking that the only fancy lad he’d ever met was Deacon. 

She swore. “Dammit! I thought maybe – ” She broke off mid-sentence, narrowing her eyes at Hob. “Who are you anyway? You’re not like the others, Dr. Johnson and Dr. Smith. I didn’t know they let ghouls in vaults.”

“The name’s Hob,” he replied, slowly losing the confident determination he had felt just moments before. “Who are Johnson and Smith? And why, um, why do you think we’re in a vault right now?” he asked, unsure if maybe there was something off about this particular test subject.

The woman rolled her dark green eyes. “This tall blond man and a shorter guy with tan skin. They said we’re in Vault 95 and they’re studying chem addiction and they created a stronger Addictol and oh God they were lying to me. Of course they fucking were! Jesus wept!” she exclaimed. “Get it together Cait, you absolute eejit,” she muttered as she began smacking the side of her head with her hand. 

“Whoa! Easy there! Cait, is it?”

“When I was born, that devil I called me Mother christened me Mary Catherine,” she spat on the ground. “I hated that loathsome woman’s guts, so I needed a different name. Of course I go by Cait.”

“Okay Cait, I don’t want you hurting yourself.” Hob thought of how Doctor Amari helped him after he fainted. “Just take some slow, deep breaths. That’ll help with the panic you’re feeling right now.”

Cait eyed him suspiciously, “Hob, is it? Was the whole chem addiction thing just a ruse to get me in here? What are you, some kind of psychology doctor? Talking to me in that aggravatingly soothing voice and getting to know me. What, do you think I’ll magically learn to love meself, is that it? Gonna tell me I’m in a vault, wait I’m not in a vault, oh yes I’m in a vault. Back and forth again until I go crazy? Well that’s not gonna work on me. I’m made of tougher stuff than that you arsehole!” 

Hob blinked rapidly. “I don’t, what, huh?” he spluttered.

“Playing the fool I see. Well don’t bother!” She huffed and sat back down on the hospital bed.

Hob rubbed his forehead in irritation. He’d had a lot of interaction with humans over the last couple weeks, but for some reason this conversation seemed to be going more poorly than most. He took a deep breath and steadied himself. “I’m not at all surprised they lied to you about where you are. Cait, those scientists don’t work for Vault-Tec – you’re in The Institute. They frequently abduct surface dwellers and bring them down here to be unwitting test subjects for various experiments.”

He saw Cait’s eyes grow large. She was too stunned to interrupt him.

Hob continued, “To the best of my knowledge, you’re one of the lucky ones. You are part of an experiment to make a synthetic vesture, which is kind of like a wearable humanskin suit. I’m not a ghoul. I’m a synth. But right now I’m wearing a vesture made from a ghoul who was alive when they brought him down here. I recently found out how these things are made. I couldn’t abide such depravity,” he shuddered, “So I objected. Clayton – the tall blond man – decided to find a way to make vestures without killing anyone. And somehow, someone from The Institute kidnapped you and I’m guessing took blood samples from you to get your base genetic structure. I’m sure Clayton’s already made a synthetic ‘Cait’ vesture.”

Cait sprang up from the bed, outraged. “What the everloving fuck! The Institute? Experiments? Skin suits? What in the holy hell goes on in this godforsaken place!” She crossed herself and resumed pacing. “Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and all the saints – please watch after me in this hell hole. Hob, look at me. Hold up your hand, like this. Do you swear to me on the lives of those you hold most dear that you’re telling the truth?” 

Deacon’s face popped into Hob’s mind as the one he held most dear. He imitated Cait’s hand gesture. “I do,” he said solemnly. 

She seemed satisfied. “Okay then. Assuming everything you just said is true, what do you propose we do about it?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’re going to spring me from here, right? Enough chatting Hob, you have to help me! You can’t just leave me here to rot. I’d rather spend the rest of my days being beaten to a pulp in the Combat Zone than be part of these sinister experiments!”

A stern voice behind them spoke, “Hob’s not going to do anything about it.” Hob whirled around. Father was standing silently, hands clasped behind his back. He appeared calm, but fire burned in his eyes. 

“Oh! Father! There you are. I wanted to speak to you earlier but X6-88 said you were resting.”

Cait made a noise of surprise. “Father? Do synths have fathers? Either I’m fluther-eyed, or something downright bizarre is going on here.”

Shaun pointedly ignored her and took a step closer to Hob. “I see you’ve been telling our guest here all about classified Institute research trials.”

Hob was tempted to take a step back from Father’s encroachment but resisted the urge. He put a pleasantly puzzled expression on his face. “Is that information classified? I was never made aware of this. You see, this test subject wanted to know why she was here so I provided the answers. I was made for helping humans, after all.”

“Why are you here?” asked Father, narrowing his eyes.

“Since I don’t have any quarters, X6 said I should wait for Clayton here in BioScience. Since my clothing is covered in blood and sewage I don’t want to spread these contaminants throughout The Institute.”

Father wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Yes I can tell. I meant, why are you here in this back part of the FEV lab?”

“The FEV lab is part of BioScience,” answered Hob innocently. “Why are you here in this back part of the FEV lab, Father?”

Shaun clenched his jaw and turned around. “Clayton is in the vesture room. See him immediately.” He stomped back down the hallway.

Hob turned to Cait, “I’ll find some way to help you,” he whispered. “I promise.”

“No Hob, no! Don’t leave me here!” she screamed. Cait pounded on the glass and then sank to the floor, crying.


	29. Leadership

Fahrenheit growled in aggravation. The leather strap for her beloved minigun Ashmaker was digging into her shoulder. She kept readjusting the strap, trying to keep it hooked in place through the spikes of her pauldron. She stepped over the rigid body of a junkie who days before must have chosen to overdose directly in her path solely to annoy her. Fahr continued clanging and thudding across the bridge over the Mystic River, unconcerned about her noise level. Her fighting style did not depend on subtlety. In fact, she was sure that she’d avoided many fights between Goodneighbor and here by virtue of walking with a minigun. Even the raiders that usually loitered in front of the BADTL Regional Office smoking cigarettes had all mysteriously disappeared inside. But as she arrived at the Poseidon Energy Turbine, Fahr heard voices. She stopped, listening hard. 

“Okay, MacCready. How do you want to approach this?”

“With a group this large you guys have to find a way around. It might take a lot longer, but it’ll be safer. You don’t want to accidentally attract those super mutants.”

“I reckon that’s what we should do, but those rocks look awful sharp. I don’t know if Mama Murphy can handle that.”

“I’m fine, Sturges. Quit fussing.”

“Can we stop arguing about it and do something? We’re sitting ducks out in the open like this,” said a sharp-tongued woman.

Fahrenheit rolled her eyes. Amateurs. She frankly didn’t know how they had made it all the way to Goodneighbor from Quincy. She walked up behind them, her minigun clanking against her metal armor with every step. “What’s the deal MacCready? Afraid to use up those precious .308s of yours on muties? Not sure what Hancock’s actually paying for.”

The merc’s face lit up upon seeing her. He barely paid attention to her verbal barbs. “Well hey there, knockout. I know I’m handsome and all but you didn’t have to go chasing me halfway across the Commonwealth.”

Preston approached Fahrenheit. “Afternoon, ma’am. Did Mayor Hancock send you to assist us?”

“In a manner of speaking. Mostly he was disappointed that Bobby weaseled out of helping you get to wherever you’re going.” She paused, hoping someone would just tell her their ultimate destination outright. She turned and gave MacCready a nasty look. “For some reason, all Mac cares about is getting to Med-Tek Research,” she said silkily. 

He pouted, “Shut your fu- fricking mouth, Fahr. Always sticking your nose in my business.”

She chuckled mirthlessly. “So what have we got up ahead? Anything a minigun can’t handle?”

“There’s a whole host of super mutants holed up in those half-finished houses. It’s looking like one of them may have a missile launcher. Even with your minigun we’ll need to go around. But the terrain gets real rocky and steep here,” said Sturges, pointing to the north. “We’ve also spotted a pretty sweet set of X-01 power armor up there near that crashed military plane. Unfortunately no one here has a fusion core. We cleared out the radroaches infesting this energy turbine looking for an F.C., but no such luck.”

Fahrenheit swore. “Damn. That would have been useful. I guess I could always come back for it.” She hummed, thinking. “Yes. Go around. Way around. Mama Murphy, is it? Can you hold on to someone’s neck while you get a piggyback ride? I’m thinking this big guy here,” she said, nodding at Sturges. 

“I’m stronger than he is,” grumbled Mama Murphy, getting into position behind Sturges so he could hoist her up. 

Fahrenheit saw that all the settlers were standing around looking at her. “Come on! Get going! You’re going to lose your daylight otherwise.” She forced herself to swallow the other nasty comments that entered her brain. “I’m at the front. Mac, you’re with me.”

“But,” he started.

“Don’t care. Don’t want to hear it. Preston, you’re at the end. You’re familiar with your group, so make sure everyone is accounted for.”

He nodded and hung back, counting heads again. The Minutemen group set off to the east, swinging almost to the Irish Pride Industries Shipyard, in order to find a flat path. At a rusted car, they turned off the road and began hiking through the rocky terrain. The group plodded along. Most of the settlers chatted amicably, not paying attention to their surroundings. “Can’t remember the last time I had clean fingernails,” mused one.

“Wait, do you hear that?” asked Fahrenheit, turning her head this way and that. She made hand gestures at the settlers to get them to stop. 

Mac shushed them as well, straining his ears. “What did you hear, gorgeous?”

Mama Murphy’s dreamy voice interjected, “There’s something coming. Drawn by the noise, and the chaos. And it is angry.”

Sturges dropped her off his back. “Quiet everyone. Get your weapons out. Josh, Anthony, get those laser muskets ready.”

Fahr looked behind her and saw a dozen pipe pistols being held in shaky hands. She rolled her eyes. Suddenly, two radscorpions burst upward from the ground. 

“Fall back!” yelled MacCready. 

“I’ve got the glowing one!” roared Fahrenheit over the sound of her spinning minigun. Within seconds the radscorpion had turned into shredded, flambéed bits. Once Ashmaker stopped turning, Fahr could hear the echoing pops of .38 bullets being fired at the other radscorpion. One settler ran out of ammo and began bashing the creature’s rigid exoskeleton with his gun. 

Fahr growled, “Out of my way! Move!” She hoisted the minigun and made a guttural, primal cry while targeting the radscorpion. It almost instantly fell limp, smoke rising from what used to be its head. Satisfied, Fahrenheit removed her gun, setting it on the ground to check how many bullets were left in the clip. 

“Holy shit,” said MacCready breathlessly while staring at her. “What a woman. That was, wow. I mean wow.”

She looked up and saw the entire group gawking at her in both terror and admiration. Fahrenheit heaved the minigun back over her shoulder and adjusted it. “Well come on! You know what the plan is!” She returned to her position at the front of the group, biting back a pleased smile. 

The settlers continued on, passing through a small herd of Brahmin munching on wild mutfruit. “Ah, I bet that’s what drew the radscorpions to this area,” said MacCready thoughtfully. 

“If I hadn’t been here what would you have done?” asked Fahrenheit testily. “I know you’re this amazing sniper at all, but you suck at close quarters combat.”

The merc smiled. “You think I’m an amazing sniper?” he asked proudly, ignoring her mean comment. 

“Shut up, Mac. For real though, what would you have done?”

“I dunno. We might not have gone this far out of the way. Probably wouldn’t have even come across them, beautiful.” Mac laughed as she scowled at him. 

The group reached an enormous pre-war high voltage pylon. MacCready examined the West Everett Estates through the scope of his sniper rifle. “Okay, we’re good. Shouldn’t draw their attention from here.”

Fahr called back to Preston, “Swinging north now. Heading to Malden. We’ll camp there for the night.”

“Understood, ma’am.”

The settlers proceeded north through the dead trees until they reached the crumbling remains of a red brick building. MacCready whistled. “What in the heck happened here? What could have caused such a huge crater?” He crouched down, poking the burned black parts of what used to be power armor with the bayoneted end of his rifle. “Hey guys, stay back a bit as we go around. I guarantee there’s a ton of radiation in this area.”

Fahrenheit swung to the west, warily eyeing the scuttled power armor behind them. She moved toward Mac and lowered her voice, “Since when did the Brotherhood of Steel come to the Commonwealth?”

MacCready blanched. “Are you sure those were Brotherhood suits?”

“Of course. Didn’t you see their stupid symbol? I thought snipers were supposed to be observant.”

Mac was barely listening to her. He thought he had left the Brotherhood behind in the Capital Wasteland. Fahr frowned at his pale face but didn’t say anything. She spotted a flat rock with a strategic view of the area in front of Med-Tek Research. She waved the merc over and whispered loudly, “Hey guys, hang back for a second. Mac and I need to check out the situation.”

He lay on his belly on the rock, looking through his scope. “Fu- frick. Ferals.”

“How many?”

“At least a dozen. Probably more in that parking garage. Maybe some down the street.”

Fahrenheit swore. She and MacCready returned to the settlers. “Hey Preston, bad news. We’ve got a bunch of feral ghouls over here. When we start shooting it’s gonna draw out every creepy crawly hanging around the area. You’ve got a laser musket right? We need you to post up on the rocks on the east side of Med-Tek. Mac’s got this higher vantage point right here for sniping from the south. He’ll be firing the first shot once he’s ready. I’m with you. When the ferals are clustered by those two cars, I’m gonna lay into them. Ashmaker and I will hopefully cause an impressive explosion. But that also means everyone here needs to stay far back. Get behind that thick cluster of trees. Don’t all be looking at the action! I mean it. At least two of you need to be posted facing south. The last thing we need is those West Everett super mutants launching a surprise attack. The time is now,” she said authoritatively. 

Everyone headed to their spots. Fahrenheit walked with Preston toward the eastern rocks. He cleared his throat, “That was a pretty amazing display of leadership. I’m glad you’re on our side. Can I interest you in a job as the new general of the Minutemen?”

She laughed and nudged his shoulder with hers. “Thanks for the offer but I’m already taken. Hancock would have my ass for breakfast if I abandoned him.” She and Preston looked toward Mac, waiting for him to commence the fight.

The merc returned to his sniper post, breathing shakily. “Stop it man,” he thought to himself. “Get a grip. They’re just ferals, you’re outside, they’re way over there. It’s not a big deal.” His hands shook as he loaded his gun. “Get this over with. You’re right here. So close. The cure is right there in that building. Just do it for Duncan.” He took a deep breath in, finally calm. Mac looked through his scope, spotting a sleeping feral just barely visible at the entrance to the parking garage. “Start with something easy.” He breathed out and squeezed the trigger, hitting the feral square in its forehead. “Piece of cake. Adios you bastard.”

Mac heard the deep whomp-whomp of Preston’s laser musket. The Minuteman was targeting the ghouls on his side, so the merc focused on the ghouls on the west. He occasionally looked up from his scope, scanning the road heading to Malden proper. Even at his sniper post Mac heard Fahrenheit’s gleeful shouting. “Shut up!” he thought. “We don’t need every feral in the Commonwealth wandering over.” 

Fahr loved how the whirring sound of her minigun seemed to block every thought in her head. She sprayed it back and forth, cackling. Once she saw a clustered group of five ferals racing toward her, she carefully aimed at the engine of the pink car. She began backing up. “Wait for it,” she thought. “Steady…wait…” Fahrenheit heard a small pop as the engine caught fire. “Go!” she shouted to Preston, hurrying toward him. 

After a second, the car exploded in a mini mushroom cloud. All that remained of it was a charred husk. The ferals flew backward. Limbs and tires rained down near the parking garage. The plan worked. Four more feral ghouls came running out of the garage, snarling and rasping, looking around wildly. Mac popped each of their heads off. He let out a little whoop.

Unfortunately, MacCready had stopped periodically checking the road to Malden. A soft green glow appeared next to him. His hands shook and he tried to take a breath. Mac scrambled backwards, failing to position the bayonet of his rifle upwards at the glowing one. He kept scooting back, willing his hands to work properly, but his brain felt like thick mud.

MacCready was jerked out his haze by a series of loud, echoing pops. The settlers who had gathered behind the tree for safety came rushing forward, some of them shouting. A weaponless Mama Murphy led the charge, fist raised in the air. Somehow the settlers blasted through one of the glowing one’s knees and it fell to the ground, snarling and looking around wildly. They repeatedly bashed the ghoul with their guns, spattering pieces of its irradiated head all over Mac. 

Sturges extended his hand and pulled the merc to his feet. “You okay man? Almost thought you were a goner there.” Mac steadied himself. His legs still felt like jelly, but at least he was alive.

Fahrenheit and Preston returned from their position on the east side of Med-Tek. Preston grabbed MacCready’s shoulder and squeezed it slightly. “Thank goodness you’re unharmed. We saw all that from over there. It wasn’t pretty.”

Fahr picked up the sniper rifle and handed it back. “It’s time for you to start carrying a pistol in your pocket, or a knife around your thigh, or something,” she said gruffly. 

Mac gave her a shaky smile. “You may be right, my lovely.”

Fahrenheit turned to the group. “Good job. Your teamwork saved Mac’s ass. Let’s head over to the parking garage and check it out. It looks like a sheltered place to make camp for the night.”

On the ground floor of the garage, they headed left and began clearing out debris that had collected under the ramp to the second level. “I like this,” said Sturges. “Always better to sleep with a roof above your head.”

Mac sat down on an overturned milk crate and took his gun apart to clean it. The settlers began unrolling sleeping bags, making a cozy set-up. One got a fire going in a metal barrel and warmed his hands. “How are you guys on supplies?” asked Fahrenheit.

Sturges looked at Preston questioningly. Preston nodded, “I think we’re okay for now.”

Fahr shook her head. “Come on. Always restock when you get a chance. I’m taking two people to do a bit of scavving in Malden. You and you, come with me. Bring that yellow wooden crate. Keep your weapons out. Mac, keep an eye on my gun. If anything happens to Ashmaker I’ll carve a pound of flesh from your ass.” He grunted in reply.

Fahrenheit, Marcy, and Emma set off, stepping around the ghoul remains, scanning the area in search of food. “Up ahead,” said Emma, “Looks like a Slocum’s Joe. A big one.”

“Bingo,” said Fahr, quickening her pace. “Spread out. I’ll head up to the top floor. You two search the second floor. This looks like some corporate office, not a regular coffee shop. Check everywhere. I bet those fat pre-war employees squirreled away food in their desks.”

Fahrenheit didn’t find much besides some Nuka Colas. Marcy and Emma had more luck in the office kitchen. They were shoveling food from the fridge into their box when Fahr walked up. “Pretty good haul here,” said Marcy. “We got some Salisbury Steaks, a couple Blamcos, one Instamash, and five cans of Cram.” 

Emma added some Dandy Boy Apples and gum drops from the bottom drawer of a desk. “So, Fahrenheit, where’d you learn all these survival skills, anyway?” she asked tentatively. “I mean no disrespect to Preston, but you just seem better prepared for how things work outside of a settlement.”

Fahr paused, dumping the Nuka Colas in the box. She stood up confidently. “I used to be a raider. I know what it’s like on the other side. What they’re looking for, who the easy targets are. So I just work backward from that. You can’t look weak. Ever. Despite how it seems, raiders don’t want a fight most of the time. They’re lazy as shit. Large groups like yours – too much work. They like to pick off individuals, the sick ones and the stragglers.”

Marcy gaped at her. “You used to be a raider? How did you end up in Goodneighbor, um, not being a raider?”

“My dad,” shrugged Fahrenheit. “Offered me a boatload of caps to be his bodyguard and do all the boring paperwork shit running the town. At least I get good sleep behind the Goodneighbor gate.” She heaved up the box and rested it against her hip. She headed back down the stairs and out to the street.

“Wait, your dad? Running the town? You mean Hancock? I thought ghouls couldn’t procreate.” Emma tagged along behind her. 

Fahrenheit shrugged. “He wasn’t always a ghoul. I was born in Diamond City, believe it or not.” Marcy and Emma gave each other a look of disbelief.

Back on the bottom floor of the parking garage, the settlers gathered around as Fahr divided the spoils. Preston raised his eyebrows. “I gotta hand it to you, Miss Fahrenheit, you’re pretty handy to have around,” he said, impressed.

“Just remember, always stock up. You see a grocery store, get your ass in there. You can’t fight for shit when you’re starving.” She turned back to Emma, “And never go alone. You’ll end up as raider target practice.” The settler nodded solemnly.

“The path leads between the wreckage and the water,” began Mama Murphy, abruptly entering her trance state. “A bright yellow arrow points toward a bounty we’ve never seen. It’s hidden inside a green corner, past all the ghostly diversions. Search the farthest point.” She swayed slightly. “Whew, that really took it out of me. These old bones are tired.” 

Preston caught her arm. He helped her ease down to the sleeping bag on the ground. “Sturges?”

“Hey it wasn’t me this time,” he replied. “I don’t have any Jet or Buffout or anything.”

Preston looked around at the settlers, “Who gave chems to Mama Murphy?” No one responded. “I know someone did, even if you’re too afraid to admit it.”

“Yellow arrow,” mumbled MacCready, thinking out loud. “Sounds like the outside of a Super Duper Mart.”

Fahr frowned. “There’s one in Lexington. Never been there, but it’s supposed to be pretty big. Where are you trying to get to? The Super Duper Mart might be too out of the way,” she said casually, having finally found the right time to determine the settlers’ ultimate destination, per Hancock’s wishes.

“We’re headed to Sanctuary,” said Sturges. “It’s northwest of Concord. Mama Murphy had a vision of it last night at the Rexford.”

Preston thought for a moment, “I don’t know. If we just gradually arced up toward Concord we’d get to Sanctuary a lot sooner. Lexington seems like too big of a detour.”

“The Sight’s sometimes foggy, but it ain’t ever a liar,” said Mama Murphy, trying to bring her eyes into focus. 

“She’s never steered us wrong, Preston. You gotta admit that,” said Sturges, raising an eyebrow and giving Preston a look. 

He rolled his eyes, unwilling to fight with Sturges again. “Fine. Have it your way. But only because Fahrenheit’s here to replace MacCready.”

She sat down on the ground, stretching slightly. “I’ll get you guys to Lexington but then I need to return to Goodneighbor. The town won’t run itself. Mac, I can meet up with you here at Med-Tek on my way back. Let’s head out early in the morning. I want three people on watch during the night, changed out every two hours. Get some sleep everyone.”

Mama Murphy turned over on her bed roll, facing the wall. She reached into her pocket and dug out the note she took from the junkie’s body on the bridge over the Mystic: “Dealer said there was a big stash of chems up at Super Duper Mart. Get them, and we’d be set for months. Or we could sell ‘em and buy something stronger.” Mama Murphy crumpled up the note and stuffed it behind a box, smiling. Today was rough. Tomorrow she could get her fix.


	30. The Two Caits

As Hob walked away from Cait, he heard her muffled sobs through the glass. “Shit,” he thought urgently. “How am I supposed to help her? I’m making promises I can’t keep.” He stepped around the broken glass in the FEV lab and headed to the BioScience vesture room.

“Hey Hob,” said Clayton stiffly, their easy relationship now strained.

Hob approached him slowly. “Clayton. I hear that while I was away you’ve been making some advancements on synthetic vestures. Hopefully they are more ethically sourced than the others.” 

“Yeah I considered our last conversation to be kind of like constructive criticism. You were right of course. Maybe a little, um, rough in your delivery.”

Hob briefly considered apologizing but decided against it. “Given my programming, you can understand why I did not react well. Human lives are worth more than synth lives. I will always believe this.” 

“Right. Of course. Should’ve seen that coming given how Alan does things over in Robotics. Anyhow, you gave me the kick in the butt that I needed. Father said you already met the test subject? I’m glad you saw for yourself that she’s alive and well. Little cranky but that’s understandable.”

Hob began removing his soiled clothing. “Yeah she, uh, thought we were in a vault for some reason. I told her the truth about where we are, but Father didn’t seem too pleased when he overheard that part of the conversation. I guess some of the research down here is confidential. Maybe Alan should have programmed some protocols for confidential information?” He handed Clayton his filthy clothes and stood in front of him, ready for the vesture to be removed. 

Clayton pointed the stimpak lasers at the seams of the ghoul vesture. “Well to be honest, Father said all that vault stuff to her. He made up that story right then and there. I had no choice but to go along with it,” said Clayton, peeling down the vesture.

Hob’s mechanical voice returned. It recalled its conversation with Virgil. “I am not surprised. Father isn’t always transparent about what happens in The Institute. How could he be? No human is perfect. But that’s okay. I’m sure he tells the truth most of the time.”

Clayton was quiet. He took the synthetic Cait vesture off its hanger. “Yeah. Maybe.”

Hob stepped into the foot holes and pulled Cait’s body up like a tight pair of jeans. “Wait, she’s a bit shorter than Mister, um,” he paused, almost giving away Virgil’s inside information about Mister Kim, “than the previous guy. Can you adjust my servos?”

The scientist silently fiddled with Hob’s knee and elbow joints, still lost in thought. He pulled the vesture up and secured it. “How’s that, little lady?”

Hob was hit with a powerful wave of nausea. Her head felt like it was about to split in two and every muscle in her body pulsed and ached. Hob’s skin was cold and clammy. “What the hell is wrong with this thing?” she shouted, slumping to the floor and curling up in the fetal position. “Am I going to die? Is this why humans fear death? I want it to end. Just let me die! Aaaaghhhh,” she screamed, writhing in the puddle of sweat on the floor, “please make it stop! Mother of God make it stop!”

Clayton had been watching this spectacle slack-jawed. He slapped his forehead and ran out of the room. He found the nearest med kit and fumbled through it, hands trembling. He sprinted back to Hob and held out an inhaler, “Here, quick! Breathe this in.”

Hob took a shaky breath. The acrid fumes hit the back of her throat, causing her eyes to tear up. She coughed slightly, feeling the bitterness rise from her throat up into her nose. “Ugh, horrible.”

Clayton rubbed her back gently, “Keep breathing baby. Take it easy. Let the Addictol do its thing.”

Hob coughed again, feeling a little better. “Addictol? Then Cait really is a chem addict?”

He pushed the sweat-soaked hair off her forehead. “Unfortunately yes. She’s having Psycho withdrawals. I guess when we took her tissue sample to build the vesture, we also built her addiction into it. Rookie mistake. Won’t happen again.” 

Hob wiped her nose with her fingers. “Is this how she feels right now? She’s in absolute agony?”

“Not quite this bad. Cait’s been slowly detoxing ever since she got here. Let’s just say she was pretty violent earlier. I’m glad you didn’t have to see that.” 

“Why didn’t she get any Addictol?”

Clayton cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Um, I was going to administer it to her but Father told me not to. We have limited resources after all.”

“So once again, you prioritized ameliorating the suffering of a synth rather than the suffering of a human?” asked Hob angrily, getting to her feet. “When will anyone here learn? Am I the only one who actually understands synthetic principles? I guess if you want something done right you just have to do it yourself!” 

Clayton blushed at the sight of the naked vesture. He removed his lab coat. “Here Hob, why don’t you put this on? We’ll get you nice and decent and then we can keep talking about this Cait business.”

“I am a synth. The natural human form causes me no shame.” Hob held her head high and marched out of the vesture room and into the main part of BioScience. Isaac Karlin, who had just entered the division with Dogmeat at his side, saw the scene in front of him and stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the naked woman. Hob found another med kit, snatched up a canister of Addictol, and strode into the FEV lab. 

Clayton scrambled after her, brandishing his lab coat. “Wait! Hob! Come back here, please.” Dogmeat barked excitedly and followed him, wondering what game they were playing now.

Hob ignored his pleas and continued walking naked to the observation rooms. As she came around the corner, her nudity immediately caused Cait to stop crying. She let out a high-pitched, strangled scream. “Hob you scut! What’s all this? The synthetic vesture thingy? Is that what you were shite-ing on about? I thought you were full of it but I guess not.” She stepped closer to the glass and peered down, “Is that really what I look like? I don’t mean to be having fierce notions but I am one tempting piece. Come on, give us a little turn. Make sure that dog doesn’t bite my – I mean, um, your – arse.” 

Clayton turned an embarrassed giggle into a hasty cough. Hob scowled and pointed at him, “You. Open this door. Cait deserves the Addictol you promised her. I’m sure there will be consequences but I will deal with Father.” She turned back to the glass, lip trembling slightly. “I am so sorry Cait. When this, um, body was fastened together I felt a rush of the most agonizing sensations. Clayton said I was having withdrawals, like you were having earlier. I’m here to make sure you get this,” she finished, holding up the canister of Addictol. 

Cait opened her mouth and looked at Clayton, “You absolute fucking flute! Making me think you were all out of that stuff or something! I can be such a fool. Well go on! Show me you’re not some gobshite. Open this door and let me out.” 

Clayton stood next to the terminal, hesitating. “How do I know you won’t run off?”

“Where’s she gonna run off to, Clayton?” asked Hob sarcastically. “We’re deep underground. Unless she finds a shovel and digs unimpeded for hours I’d say she’s stuck right here with us.” 

Cait stamped her foot, putting her half-formed escape plan on the back burner. “Yeah I’m stuck with you sons a bitches. No offense Hob. So come on then,” she clapped impatiently, “Open sesame.”

Clayton moaned anxiously and typed a password into the terminal, opening the door to Cait’s holding cell. Dogmeat rushed up to her, inspecting her pant legs eagerly. 

“All right there, big fella? My, aren’t you the pretty boy?” she said, bending down and scratching him behind the ears. He let out a little woof and started licking her hands and sniffing her face. Cait laughed and rose, standing next to Hob. She reached out and squeezed Hob’s defined bicep, shaking her head. “So fucking bizarre. Maybe this is all some drug-induced haze and I’m just obsessed with me physical appearance. Psychojet, perhaps? Or maybe Daytripper?” 

Hob handed her the canister of Addictol. “Are you ready?”

Cait nodded and mimed raising a glass in the air, “Cheers, then. Bottoms up.” She inhaled the Addictol, struggling to keep the cloud inside her mouth. Her eyes started burning and watering. After a moment she finally exhaled, coughing slightly. “Ugh, nasty. Tastes like a mole rat’s arsehole. Got any water?” 

“Hang on,” said Clayton, heading back down the metal hallway to the FEV lab.

“Psst, Hob, quick before he comes back. Any progress on ideas to get me outta here?”

Hob shook her head. “Not yet. I still need to meet with Father – his real name is Shaun – and find out what my next mission is. But I’m guessing it’s finally time for the show to start.”

“What show? What’s going on?” whispered Cait frantically.

“He’s from a vault, some pre-war cryo-experiment. His mother’s still on ice so I have to go there and release her, help her with whatever she needs. We had to put all these puzzle pieces in place first but I think I’m going to free her soon.”

“Jesus wept,” exclaimed Cait. “Shite’s getting weirder every time I talk to ya. Okay, well find some way to convince them to send me back to the Combat Zone. I used to hate working for Tommy Lonegan in that piss-soaked hovel. Guess I took it for granted.” 

Hob turned her head, listening to faint footsteps. “He’s coming!”

Cait started coughing in an exaggerated manner. Clayton appeared around the corner and handed her the water. She drank it greedily, wiping her mouth with her arm. “Thanks love, though by looking at ya you’re the tall glass of water I need,” she said, winking at Clayton. His eyes grew wide and he started stammering.

“This is highly irregular,” said a cool voice. X6-88 was standing behind the group, taking in the sight of a blushing Clayton holding a lab coat, two Caits – one regular and one naked, and a synthetic German Shepherd. Dogmeat turned and began growling at X6. “Quiet mutt,” he said threateningly. 

“Who’s that handsome fella?” asked Cait, turning to Hob while checking out the courser. “I’d climb him like a tree.”

X6’s mouth went a little dry. He cleared his throat softly, looking at Hob from behind his sunglasses. “J9-39, Father requests your presence in the board room. I also imagine that he would request for you to be clothed, though he did not specifically state this.”

“Oh, going to see Father are ya? Could you give him a message from me? Just tell him: póg mo thóin. It’s a little Irish saying, like wishing someone good luck,” said Cait, grinning broadly at X6. 

“I can do that, ma’am.” X6 turned to leave. He tilted his head slightly and snuck a sideways peek at Cait before going around the curve in the hallway. 

“Come on, Hob. Let’s get you dressed,” said Clayton.

“Wait,” shouted Cait. “Make sure I look good! Something like this,” she gestured to her red leather corset. “None of that frilly, girly shite!”

Hob nodded, “I’ll try to do what you requested, Cait.” Hob turned and winked at her, hoping Cait got the double meaning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> póg mo thóin = kiss my ass ;)


	31. Unconscious Bias

Clayton and Hob entered the board room together. Father’s eyes flicked over Hob’s new appearance, resting on the ridiculous skull and crossbones belt buckle. The road leathers squeaked slightly as the synth sat down next to Clayton. Father swallowed the revulsion that the Cait vesture inspired in him, and cleared his throat to speak. 

Hob interrupted him however. “X6 said you requested my presence here? I bet you’re glad I’m clothed,” she said, nudging Clayton about their new inside joke. He stifled a laugh. 

Father scowled and sighed. “If you’re finished being childish, I’d like to begin. There’s a pressing matter to discuss.”

Hob bit the inside of her cheek. She had never intentionally aggravated someone before. Well, she had played small pranks on Deacon. But those were actual jokes, for both of them to share. 

“Now that the Directorate is gathered here, I need to inform you all of something very serious that has occurred.” He paused, making sure all eyes were on him. “Brian Virgil has turned traitor. He escaped The Institute this morning. The molecular relay terminal indicates that he transported somewhere within the Glowing Sea. Unfortunately, the ambient radiation distorts the possibility of getting a signal lock on him. We don’t have any way to know his precise location.”

Madison Li exhaled sharply. Her face blanched in shock. “What! Brian just…left? But why? Is there some explanation?” 

“You recall the events of yesterday, Madison,” said Father tetchily. “He didn’t leave any clues in his quarters. It doesn’t appear that anyone here aided his escape. Based on the time logs, Virgil used the relay during a shift change. He most likely hid nearby. Allie, next to the elevator from the relay, there is a door leading to a seldom frequented hallway. When we are done here, you will permanently seal that door. Absolutely no one in or out. Am I understood?”

“Yes Father, I’ll get Enrico and we’ll make sure it stays closed.”

Hob rested her chin in her hands, aiming for an air of polite interest. Inwardly, she was quite pleased that Virgil had successfully fled The Institute. The rebellious spark he had stirred in her flared up again. Hob looked around the table. Madison’s reaction was intriguing. She seemed more distraught than the other division heads on hearing the news. 

Father turned to Justin. “Normally I’d recommend sending a courser or two to extract Virgil. However, I don’t want to risk losing them. We’ve never surveyed the Glowing Sea before and we don’t know how the radiation spike will impact their sensors. It’s highly dangerous, so I recommend we send Kellogg. The mission to bring M7-97 back into the fold will be a lower priority for now. It is urgent that we extract Virgil.”

Justin nodded in agreement. “Yes Father. I’ll send X6 to Diamond City immediately to brief Kellogg and retrieve S9-23.”

Hob frowned slightly. Once again, she noticed how The Institute – Father in particular – seemed to value synth lives more than human lives, even it was just Kellogg. She idly wondered what it would be like to be comforted by this, instead of feeling her programming recoil at this upheaval of the natural order.

“Thank you Justin,” said Father. “Kellogg will most likely move near the Glowing Sea to set up a base of operations and ask for a team of first and second gens to accompany him. You may grant that request. The number of synths will be at your discretion. And remember, when the boy returns, he will be moved to my quarters.” Father glanced briefly at Madison, hoping to get a rise out of her. She looked down, playing with her nails instead of returning his gaze.

“Now then Hob, that brings us to your mission. This Virgil debacle is throwing off my plans. We need to modify the timeline for freeing my mother from Vault 111 cryostasis. According to the watchers, the settler group departed the Malden area this morning. They are heading due west at the moment. Do you know why they left Goodneighbor and headed north instead of in the direction of Sanctuary Hills?”

Hob cleared her throat. “Yep, it’s partially my fault. Things on the surface did not go how I expected. By some coincidence, this strange old lady in the group has visions. She calls it The Sight, but apparently she’s a psyker? I never asked what that means. Anyway, she was the one who told Preston’s people to seek sanctuary.” 

Clayton frowned thoughtfully. “We’ve heard rumors of psykers over the years but there’s never been any evidence that they’re legitimate. There’s probably a good explanation for why she got the word ‘sanctuary’ stuck in her head.”

Hob shrugged. “I did give them a nudge in the right direction, toward Concord. However, Father said I had free rein to determine how to convince the settlers to head to Sanctuary. When they first entered Goodneighbor, I witnessed them dealing with a security threat. I terminated this threat, but also decided to hire a mercenary bodyguard to escort them out of the city. The merc agreed to travel as far as Malden. But to work out an agreement with him, I had to finagle a contract for someone else. Humans love these endless chains of favors.” She looked at Alan, “You know how it goes. This whole help-the-humans programming of mine makes it so I just can’t resist lending a hand!” 

Hob’s sarcasm flew over Alan’s head and he smiled proudly. “Glad to hear it.” 

She looked back at Father. “Assuming things stay on track, when do you think the settlers will get to Sanctuary?”

Justin interjected, “Based on our estimates, they should be arriving either tonight or tomorrow morning.” 

“Okay, so how is the timeline changing? What is my next task?”

“Originally, I wanted the settlers there before you released my mother. However, you will now unfreeze her before the settler group arrives in Sanctuary Hills,” replied Father, “so we need to enact other contingency plans for her safety. Clayton’s ingenious synthetic dog will be accompanying you to the surface in order to provide further protection for her once she leaves the vault. Alan is taking care of the other matter.” Father gestured for the roboticist to speak.

“There’s a Mister Handy – a household cleaning robot – that patrols Sanctuary Hills, using its flamer and saw blade to fiercely guard the neighborhood from any outside threats. Obviously that’ll be great for Susan, but not for you and the dog. I’m going to hack into its protocols, personally ensuring that it doesn’t view you two, and the incoming settlers, as threats,” said Alan. “Once we’re done with this meeting, you and Dogmeat and I will relay together just outside Sanctuary Hills.”

“And then I free Susan Calvin from her cryo-pod. Should I escort her home to the Mister Handy robot?”

“Correct,” said Father.

“Okay, and then what?”

“We’ve discussed this previously. Your task is to guide her to the settlers. They will help her take the next steps, hopefully toward me. But I can’t be sure of that. The settler group knows nothing of The Institute. They are the true test of whether or not my mother,” Shaun paused, hesitant to be so vulnerable in front of the Directorate, “whether she loves me enough to brave the wasteland looking for me.” 

“But Father, if the plan is being modified, then I also want to help Susan Calvin beyond simply freeing her from the vault. Ever since you told me about her tragic story, I have felt compelled to help her. Obsessed, really. More than any other task you’ve set me. Though I am still fairly inexperienced in above ground matters, I believe I am more motivated to help her than the settlers would be,” finished Hob breathlessly.

Alan gave Hob a thumbs up. “See kiddo, you really are something special,” he smiled again. 

“But Hob, your motivations are precisely the problem. It would be very easy for you to unconsciously steer her in certain ways, leading her to me. For this to work, there can’t be any bias,” said Father, a little exasperated. He wasn’t aware J9 was so attached to Susan already.

“I won’t steer her! I promise. I’ll let her do whatever she wants, in whatever way she wants,” declared Hob. “But if a raider tries to slash her throat with a knife, I won’t let that happen. I’ll protect her. Oh!” she snapped her fingers at the burst of inspiration. “And no sending messages back and forth from here. I’ll pretend I don’t know anything about the informants or The Institute. You won’t tell me what to do or give her any helpful hints. You can just watch as the experiment unfolds.” 

Father’s eyes widened when Hob mentioned the word “experiment”. Maybe Alan’s programming was too clever, too on the nose for The Institute’s future needs. Shaun took a breath and exhaled loudly, “Fine. You may assist my mother as an impartial companion. But I cannot stress enough that all choices must be hers and hers alone. If we determine that you are unduly influencing her, we will send X6 to retrieve you, understood?”

Hob nodded eagerly, “Yes I do! Thank you Father!”

“Wait,” said Clayton. “Problem. What about Cait, the test subject? As long as you’re up there, wearing that vesture, then she’s gotta stay down here. We weren’t planning to, um, house her long term.”

Hob’s heart sank. “Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’,” said Clayton. “Plus we have limited resources that have to be allocated to people of The Institute, rather than a surface dweller. So in the interest of transparency,” he looked at Father while emphasizing the last word, “Hob, you should know that the longer Cait stays here the more we’ll need to make use of her.”

“What does that mean? Like have her sweep the floors and stuff?”

Allie coughed politely, “We have a sufficient number of synths on our janitorial staff. We don’t need anyone else.”

Hob turned to Madison, “What about in Advanced Systems? Cait said she came from something called the Combat Zone. So maybe she could teach you to fight? Or help Rosalind develop better weapons based on her surface experiences?”

Madison glanced at Father before looking at Hob. He gave her a mildly threatening look. She coughed and said, “I lived on the surface before coming here. It’s a violent place. I don’t want my little corner of The Institute to be like that.”

Hob frantically turned to Justin, “What about with the coursers then? I know she liked X6-88. They can always use more combat training, right?” He huffed at the perceived insult to his management of the courser program.

Clayton threw a grumbling Justin an apologetic look. “Uh, yeah, maybe. Those are all good ideas. We can work out the details later. But really it’s up to you. Just think, the faster Susan finds Father, the sooner Cait can go home.”

“I am concerned that this Cait person will negatively affect your ability to be impartial,” said Father, who had been watching this back-and-forth conversation with increasing distrust. “Perhaps we should stick to the original plan.”

“No, no she won’t affect me. I promise. I just have to make sure Cait doesn’t mysteriously get hurt down here because I abandoned her. My programming cannot abide that. As long as you promise to keep her healthy and cared for, there shouldn’t be any problems. Truly.”

Father glared at Clayton. “Fine. She will be under Clayton’s care. Like a ward of his. If you trust Clayton, then you can be assured that no harm will befall her.”

“Yes, that works,” she turned to Clayton and grabbed his hand. “I trust you. I know you’ll protect Cait.”

For a moment he got lost in the Cait vesture’s dark green eyes. He blinked back to reality. “I will. For you Hob.”

Father rolled his eyes. “Are we finished with this overt display of sentimentality?”

Hob thought it was ridiculous for a man moving heaven and earth to save his mother to criticize others for showing emotions. “Yes. Is everything set? Nothing else to clear up? Once I relay to the surface, no more communications with The Institute, no influencing of Susan, no harming of Cait.” She listed the items on her fingers, looking around at the other division heads. There was a general murmuring of assent. “Well okay then. Alan, let’s go get Dogmeat so we can rock and roll. That means let’s get going,” she said in an audible whisper, thinking of the last time she talked to MacCready.

Alan laughed and rose from his chair. “I think Dogmeat’s still in BioScience. Let’s go down there, get him, stop by the requisition synth for whatever supplies you need, and then we’ll head to the relay.”

“Going to BioScience? Wait, I’ll come with you,” said Clayton, hurrying after them. Once they were out of Father’s earshot he turned to Hob. “I never apologized for this morning. You were right. I should have given Cait the Addictol sooner. I don’t know why I get all twisted up when Father’s around. He always makes sense at the time but then later…I dunno.”

Hob tapped Clayton’s chest, “Then remember that feeling, that sudden rush of knowing right from wrong. Push that to the front of your brain and make that the basis of your decisions down here.” 

Alan hooted loudly. “Goddamn I like you. I wish it were safe enough for me to stay on the surface and watch you in action. Not to toot my own horn, but your programming is the reason all of this good stuff is happening. For Father, for all of us.”

Hob frowned at him, “What is my actual programming? I can feel it operating inside me, making decisions, but I only get a vague sense of it.”

“I don’t see why I can’t tell you. There’s three main rules. I wish I’d put these into the third gens, but hindsight’s 20/20. So, rule number one: the synth may not injure a human, or through inaction allow a human to come to harm. I think you’re most externally aware of rule one. Rule number two: the synth must obey the orders given it by human beings, unless such orders would conflict with the first rule. And rule number three: The synth must protect its own existence, as long as such protection does not conflict with the first or second rule. And that’s the gist of it. Pretty good, huh?”

Hob narrowed her eyes. “I sure hope there are more specifics written in there somewhere. Because what if two humans tell me to do things that aren’t harmful but are directly contradictory? For example, draw a red circle with my right hand, oh no wait, draw a blue circle with my right hand. That sort of thing. How do I know who to listen to?”

Alan laughed again, “Have you been talking to my son Liam? I swear he said something similar to that the other day. When you first awakened, the lobes of your brain were programmed to follow those three rules to the letter. But then we sent you to the surface. Life up there is wild. There’s no way you could consistently follow the rules. Your brain soaked up new experiences like a sponge and then started finding more nuanced ways to interpret the rules in order to keep following them. Furthermore, every time we put you in a different vesture, you experienced the world in a different way. Your growth has been explosive.” 

Hob’s pace had slowed. She looked at Clayton, “So if you keep making synthetic vestures, then I can keep changing and growing, right?” Clayton nodded. “Could you make a vesture without ever harming someone or needing to bring them down here?”

As they reached BioScience, Alan and Clayton exchanged a look. Alan responded, “Unfortunately that would break both the first and third rules of your programming. Surface dwellers are highly suspicious of any human-looking duplicates. If both you and the original human somehow came in contact with each other, it could result in both of you being killed. We definitely don’t want that.” 

“I agree with Alan. Why don’t you just stick to this vesture for the time being? If push comes to shove we can always make a new one for you.”

Hob shrugged, “Okay I guess you two make some good points.” She surveyed the main area of the BioScience division. Hob whistled and Dogmeat came bounding over from behind a curved hydroponic wall. He nosed under her hand so she could pet his head. “This boy also makes a good point! Doesn’t he? What a beautiful baby.” 

Clayton laughed and scratched behind Dogmeat’s ears. “Hey, Hob watch this.” He turned to the dog and held up his hand before making a pointing gesture, “Dogmeat: seek!” The dog sprinted off to the vesture room and returned holding Hob’s pack in his mouth. “That’s a smart boy! Good job buddy.” Clayton opened the bag, “See look, I stuffed an old teddy bear in there for him. He loves that thing. It really helped with the training.”

Alan patted Dogmeat. “He’s gonna be so helpful for you and Susan up on the surface. Hob, are you ready to head to the requisition synth?”

“I think so.” She turned to Clayton and gave him a hug, “I’ll miss you. Be good! And try to help Cait. Think of it like this – when she eventually leaves The Institute, she should be better off than before she came.”

He nodded. “I understand. Good luck up there Hob.” Clayton squeezed her shoulder slightly, staring after her as she left.

Alan, Hob, and Dogmeat set off from BioScience. “What sort of things do I need from the requisition synth?” asked Hob. “I’ve never been gone from The Institute for such an extended period of time.”

Alan hummed thoughtfully. “Well you’ll definitely need caps. A lot of them. There’s a 1,000 cap limit for all surface missions, but that’s because of some problems we had with Kellogg a while back. Let’s see, what else? I know Father wants to see how Susan makes it on her own, but between us I’d recommend bringing some food rations, stimpaks, and RadAway with you. Just in case. There’s not much point releasing her and then immediately letting her starve or die of radiation poisoning. I think you’ve got plenty of fusion cells for your rifle, but I’m certain you’ll need to keep acquiring ammo the longer you stay up there. Money, food, medicine, and ammo. Those are your top priorities.”

Hob nodded, “Got it.” Somehow she managed to convince the requisition synth that Alan also needed 1,000 caps, despite the quickness of his robot hacking task. She hoisted her pack on her back, groaning slightly at how stuffed it was. Hob wondered why post-war humans decided to use such a heavy form of currency.

Once she and Alan and Dogmeat left the elevator, they heard the loud hammering sounds of Enrico Thompson’s synths sealing the old metal door. Hob suppressed a smile, pleased that she had a role in Virgil’s escape. 

As the group stood in the center of the molecular relay, Hob took a deep steadying breath. Alan nudged her slightly. “You’re going to do well, Hob. I guarantee it. Now let’s rock and roll,” he said, winking at her.


	32. Vault 111

Bright blue lights. Blinding sunlight.

Hob still hadn’t gotten over the shock of the molecular relay. Now that she was wearing a synthetic vesture, the relay made her whole body buzz with a little frisson of electricity for a few seconds. She shook her head slightly and looked around, trying to get her bearings. 

She and Alan and Dogmeat were standing near a narrow foot bridge that crossed a shallow stream. The woods were filled with tall dead trees, bigger than those she had seen when she first relayed near the Drumlin Diner two weeks ago. Her vesture sniffed slightly. Hob turned around and walked over to a wide bush with dark leaves. She stuck her nose into a large blue flower. “These smell lovely! I didn’t know flowers grew on the surface.” Dogmeat followed her, eager to inspect the bush as well. 

Alan chuckled, “Hubflowers. They’re a key ingredient in making various restorative chems. Our synth scavenger teams collect those when they can. But I don’t recommend putting the unprocessed petals in your mouth. Isaac Karlin dared my son to eat one once, and afterward Liam said all food and water tasted bitter for a week.” He shivered a little, “Blegh.” 

Hob gave Alan a mock salute. “Don’t eat the hubflowers. Got it, boss.” She looked up the hill behind them. “What’s up there?”

“Ah, let me show you before dealing with the robot.” They hiked up the gradual incline and stopped near a rusty chain link fence. Several skeletons were scattered around, their bodies contorted into awkward positions. 

Hob crouched down, gently touching the skull of one of the skeletons. She bumped the crunchy blue fabric of the dead woman’s dress. The cloth cracked slightly before turning into a powdery dust. “Who is this?” asked Hob, still gazing at the skeleton. “I mean, who was this?”

“I’m not sure. Based on where we are, I’m guessing these are some of the people who weren’t able to make it to the vault before the shockwave hit.”

“We’re near the vault? Father said the residents of Vault 111 were from nearby neighborhoods. I wonder if these were Susan Calvin’s neighbors. Maybe these were her friends. We should move them away from the path so we don’t upset her.”

“No,” said Alan firmly. “Remember, no interfering. I know you want to help Susan, but hiding this terrible truth from her won’t help. In fact, it might harm her. She needs to see the aftermath of the bombs with her own eyes. She must come to terms with the fact that the world she knew is gone and will never come back.”

Hob touched the skeleton again, “I’m sorry ma’am.” She stood up, scowling briefly at the crumbling billboard advertising Vault-Tec. Hob followed Alan and Dogmeat through the rusty gate, which was barely hanging on to the fence post. They continued up the rocky terrain and came around a bend. A raised metal platform was covered in debris and dead leaves.

“Hob, this is the entrance to Vault 111.”

She stared at the cog shape outlined in yellow. A repeating set of words told the viewer: “Stand Within Circle”. Hob did as it said. She stood in the center of the circle and tried to read the faint white markings that said “Vault 111”. Hob whistled to Dogmeat and he came bounding over to her. “I’m ready.”

Alan raised an eyebrow, “Oh I didn’t know you wanted to go down now. I still need to take care of the Mister Handy.”

Hob stayed still in the middle of the circle. She felt like her feet were glued in place. “Susan is here. She’s here right now. I’m sure it will take a while for me to…explain what has happened and help her exit the vault. I think you will have plenty of time to hack the robot and return to The Institute. But please, just let me go. Send me down there now.” She put a hand on her hip and tapped her foot impatiently.

“Okay. I understand,” he said, standing near her and hesitating. Alan gave her a quick hug and headed in the direction of a blue guard tower. He stepped over another skeleton and climbed the ramp. He balled his hand into a fist and held it out, hovering over the square red button. “Good luck Hob. Make us all proud.” She made no indication that she heard him. He hit the button roughly.

A loud buzzer blared obnoxiously. The cog shape screeched to life and began sliding down the elevator shaft. Dogmeat let out an alarmed bark and looked up at Hob. She patted his side reassuringly. “It’s okay, boy. We can do this. Just have to go down the daunting metal tube in order to find Susan. You want to find her? We gotta track her. She’s going to need puppy kisses on her face to make her feel better.” He woofed and looked around.

After a minute, the elevator squealed and jolted into place, causing a few dead leaves from the surface to flutter down the shaft. The grate in front of Hob rolled upwards. Emergency lights popped and flickered. Dogmeat growled and slunk forward, smelling the air cautiously. Unknown liquid droplets fell from the high ceiling and splashed on his nose and on Hob’s head.

“Come on boy, I know it’s scary.” She stepped forward off the elevator platform and was startled by loud pneumatic hissing. The distinctive cog-shaped vault door groaned and slowly rolled to the left. Hob was reminded of the enormous metal door protecting Diamond City. As the cog cleared the doorway, she was blinded by bright spotlights. Hob threw her hand up to shade her eyes and climbed the rusty metal staircase. With another clang, a yellow walkway lurched forward, providing a bridge over a stagnant sort of moat. Hob wrinkled her nose.

She looked up at a faded brown sign: “Vault 111. Welcome Home”. Hob laughed bitterly, “Yeah welcome home all right. But in this house you go straight into the refrigerator. Gotta keep the produce fresh. It’s a bit chilly. Hope you don’t mind.” She made an aggravated noise. “Vault-Tec bastards.”

After passing through the security checkpoint, Hob noticed two skeletons in lab coats sprawled out on the ground. The one closest to the vault door controls was facing upward. She peered down and saw the blue Vault-Tec symbol embroidered over the breast pocket. In the memory captured and recorded at the Memory Den, Hob had visualized the number 111 stitched in that spot on the coat. She realized she had been close to imagining the vault correctly, but this detail was wrong. Hob wondered what else would be different here.

Dogmeat barked and ran over to the skeleton’s hand and arm bones. He whined and pawed at an enormous leather cuff with a small blank screen. 

“What is that buddy? Found something interesting?” She picked up the Pip-Boy and examined it. “I’m not sure what this is. Maybe we’ll come back for it later. But you’re a very good boy for showing me.” Hob patted his head. “Let’s keep going. Let’s find Susan.”

She walked up to two doors, both marked “Exit Zone. Authorized Personnel Only”. Hob fiddled with the controls for the left door. It opened with a hydraulic hiss. “Dogmeat, I officially declare you to be authorized personnel.” He woofed and followed her.

They continued down the hallway and turned left. Dogmeat growled and rushed forward, chomping on insects. “Ugh gross! Those must be the radroaches that Patrick mentioned earlier.” Hob set her heavy pack down with a thud and searched for her laser rifle. By the time she extricated it Dogmeat had killed all the insects. “Well I’m glad you’re on top of it, pal. I can’t believe Deacon said people eat these disgusting things.” She hoisted the bag up to her shoulder, keeping her rifle out.

As the hall ended, they came into a wide office. Hob stepped over a toppled shelf and bent down to pull a chair upright. “By the state of it, almost looks like Virgil was here. I’m not sure why humans feel the need to destroy things. Maybe it’s all that pent-up violence of theirs.” 

She opened a security gate and poked her head into a small room. Hob rubbed away the frost on the glass. “Ooh what’s that? Looks like a big old cryo-gun. Lots of fun stuff happening down here. Freeze people and experiment on them so you can make a weapon. Good old Vault-Tec,” she said sarcastically. 

Hob inspected the office terminal, clicking through the records. An entry from someone called the overseer was especially interesting: “I can only imagine what wonders our residents will get to witness. The notion of leaping forward in time – I almost wish I could join them and see the promise of our future realized.”

Hob chuckled darkly. She looked at Dogmeat, shaking her head, “Oh buddy how wrong they were. It’s like Carla said, the Commonwealth sucks.” She paused, thinking back on pranking Deacon, and watching little Nat run off with Shaun, and seeing the redheaded child in Bunker Hill playing tag. “Okay, the Commonwealth may suck, but its people can be pretty great. Some of them, anyway. The rest are…well I don’t know. But it seems like a slippery slope between being human and being monstrous.” 

The pair proceeded down another hallway, one that ended in flashing blue arcs of light. Hob recalled that before going to Goodneighbor, Allie had said something about pre-war energy sources. This room definitely seemed like the powerhouse of the vault. Hob wondered if maybe The Institute could find a power source here that could work for their energy planning needs. “Dogmeat, stay close pup. Be careful of the electricity.”

After exiting the reactor area, the path forked. Hob went left and saw a kitchen/living/sleeping area for the lucky unfrozen inhabitants of Vault 111. She backtracked and headed to the hall going in the opposite direction. The path wound past a small security office and then up a half flight of stairs.

Hob looked through a wide window into a room containing crinkled ductwork and a series of large gray spheres. “Is that them? Is Susan here?” She stepped carefully into the room, almost slipping in a puddle of water. Dogmeat started lapping it up. She shoved him with the side of her leg. “Oh gross, don’t drink that! Who knows what’s in that water.”

Hob stopped at the first cryo-pod. “They’re vertical,” she murmured. “Maybe it was easier to trick these poor people into stepping inside.” She looked at the ground and noticed that each pod was assigned a letter-number combo. Hob wiped off the frost on pod C9, squinting inside. “No, that’s a bald guy. Probably not Susan.” She moved to the next pod. A woman with brown hair was frozen, arms wrapped around her torso. “Are you Susan?” Hob looked around and spotted a terminal on the wall. She rushed over to it, scanning the test subjects’ names. “Cofran…Whitfield…damn, no Calvin. Where is she?”

Hob jogged back to the hallway, breathing slightly harder. She was so close. She looked to the right and saw another line of cryo-pods. Hob hurried to this room and found the monitoring terminal. She dropped her pack and laser rifle. Her fingers shook as she tried to type. “Finally! Let’s see here, C6: Douglas Calvin, Shaun Calvin (infant), C7: Susan Calvin. Aha!”

She launched herself off the terminal and sprinted to the end of the room. Hob’s trembling hand reached out and wiped off the glass. As the frost cleared, Hob saw her. Susan. Her thick eyebrows were raised upward in shock, wrinkling the olive skin of her forehead. Large, almond-shaped brown eyes with hooded lids were leaking frozen tears. Her mouth was open wide in a silent scream. One hand wound through her thick black curly hair, almost ripping it away from her head, and the other hand reached out to the glass. 

Hob gasped. Susan’s anguish was so palpable that an empathetic mirror of it crossed Hob’s face. She clutched her chest and backed away until she bumped into the cryo-pod behind her. She turned around quickly, realizing in horror that this was him. Douglas. Murdered in order to save Shaun from an irradiated life on the surface. Hob peered upward. Chunks of viscera splattered the inside of the pod behind Douglas. A trail of dark blood trickled from his head and stained his vault suit. It was a frozen version of the Pickman Gallery.

Hob’s knees gave way. She stumbled backwards, leaning over. There was nothing to vomit, but the vesture convulsed and retched anyway. Hob fell to her knees in a puddle, cradling her head in her hands and rocking back and forth. Hot tears welled in her eyes and fell down her face. She wiped them away hastily, not noticing that this was the first time she’d ever cried. 

“I can’t do this, I can’t do this, I can’t do this,” she moaned. Dogmeat whined and nudged her, trying to lick her tear-stained cheeks. Hob sat up on her knees, sniffling. “I didn’t know. Father didn’t know. My God, she saw it happen. She was awake and she saw Kellogg – ” Hob broke off. “Susan witnessed her husband’s murder. And now I have to wake her up? Make her go wandering the wastes, looking for her baby? He’s alive and well underground, and I have to knowingly torture her? I can’t, Dogmeat, I can’t. It’s too cruel. I can’t bring harm to a human.” 

Hob sat back down on the ground, crossing her legs. She stayed seated for an hour, too absorbed in thought to notice the passage of time. Eventually, Dogmeat woofed impatiently, causing her to snap out of her trance. Hob blinked slowly, returning to reality. Alan’s remarks about the skeletons outside echoed in her ears: “I know you want to help Susan, but hiding this terrible truth from her won’t help. In fact, it might harm her.” She took a deep breath, stood up, and walked back to Susan. Her hand hovered over the red manual override handle as she turned towards the cryo-pod. “Releasing you will for sure bring you pain. But if I don’t free you, you’ll never have the chance to heal. I’m sorry Susan. This is going to hurt like nothing you’ve ever known.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Sole Survivor's face match is Persian actress Golshifteh Farahani.


	33. The Wrong Spelling

The heel of Hob’s palm pushed the manual release handle upward. The hatch raised out and up, releasing a plume of ice crystals into the room. Susan’s throat warmed up enough to continue the scream from when Kellogg murdered Douglas. She fell forward out of the pod, landing painfully on her wrists. 

“Oh my God are you okay?” asked Hob, feigning ignorance of everything she knew about the Calvin family tragedy. “Take it easy.”

Susan struggled to her feet and tried to clench her hands into fists, wincing as the pain in her wrists flared. “I’ll fucking kill you!” she screamed, trying to maintain her balance. “Come here you bitch! I’ll end you right now! You murdered my husband you sack of shit!”

Hob stood rooted to the spot. In her various calculations about what would happen when she freed Susan, she never once considered that it would make her an immediate suspect in Douglas’s murder. Dogmeat ran in between the two, barking and growling viciously at Susan.

“Dogmeat, no! Get back. Lie down!” He unhappily obeyed, keeping his eyes on Susan and emitting a low growl. Hob raised her hands up in a show of good faith, gesturing toward Douglas’s cryo-pod. “I didn’t do that! I promise I had nothing to do with it! Please. You should sit down before you hurt yourself further. I can explain but please just sit.”

Susan eyed her suspiciously and stumbled to the concrete steps nearby. She kept looking at Hob and avoided gazing in Douglas’s direction. “Start talking. Now.” She swayed in place as the warmth returned to her appendages. She almost seemed drunk.

“My name is Cait. That’s Dogmeat. There’s no one else here in the vault besides us. I was just scavenging for supplies. I didn’t expect to find anyone alive,” she said slowly. “Everyone in these pods is dead. And there are several skeletons near the exit to the surface.”

Susan shuddered, continuing to avoid Douglas. She took in Hob’s unusual appearance. To the best of her knowledge, women didn’t dress like that. At least not the boring suburban ladies of Sanctuary Hills. “Why are you wearing that?”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“I mean why are wearing that leather…costume? Are you going to a biker bar later or something?”

Hob inspected her vest and stared down at her pants. “These are just regular clothes. They offer decent protection out in the wasteland.”

“Wasteland? What are you talking about?”

“You know, the area outside the vault? Did they not refer to it by that term in here? I don’t know the proper Vault-Tec terms for the outside world.” 

Susan sighed. “No terms were referred to. The bombs dropped, we came here, they immediately locked us in these fucking ‘decontamination’ pods, I saw my husband murdered, and now you’re here wearing that,” she gestured at Hob’s leather pants but immediately regretted jiggling her wrist.

“Ah,” said Hob, sitting on the floor and crossing her legs. “The freezing must have messed with your brain or something. Because if you’re telling the truth, then you’re saying you’re pre-war. And since you’re not a ghoul, that’s just ridiculous.” She patted the ground and Dogmeat scooched closer to her.

Susan did not ask what a ghoul was. “Well I remember the sky turning yellow before seeing a mushroom cloud to the south. Then the vault elevator started descending and the blast from the atomic shockwave ripped through my hair. So you can think that’s ridiculous all you want, but it happened. I lived it. I lived through it, and apparently no one else survived,” she finished, choking back tears. Her eyes won, however, and her mascara slid down her face in watery black streaks. 

Dogmeat whimpered at Hob. She nodded slightly, approving his request. He moved towards Susan, putting his head on her thighs. She pet him absentmindedly while sniffling. 

Hob pretended to be barely convinced. “Okay, let’s say you’re pre-war. The pods kept you frozen until I wandered in here. Now if I tell you what year it is, will you believe me?”

Susan abruptly stopped petting Dogmeat. Her eyes grew wide, “Oh God. What? When? Just tell me now,” she implored. “Spit it out. Come on.” 

Hob chewed on her lip for a moment. “It’s the year 2287.”

After a beat, Susan howled with laughter. She laughed so hard she coughed, which turned into wretched hacking sounds. She slapped a hand to her forehead and looked at Hob, “Of course it’s 2287. Of fucking course it is!” Her eyes grew wide and she stood up, knocking Dogmeat off her lap. She paced back and forth. “Yes, yes, yes! The magnificent year 2287. A reasonable 210 years in the future! So what are we working with here? Magical teleportation? Gigantic sky ships? Little green men in flying saucers?” She frenetically twirled her dark curls around her index finger, a manic look on her face. 

Hob raised her eyebrows. “Um, none of the above unfortunately. The world,” she hesitated, not wanting to give away too much yet, “The world is still a mess. The land is ravaged and humans are having a pretty hard time just surviving. It’s very violent. I guess you could say not much has changed over the last two centuries. Not as much progress as you’d hope for.”

Susan stopped pacing, eyeing Hob warily. “Well that sounds fanciful and all, but I’m going to need some proof.”

“You could try checking the date on that terminal over there. It’s still functioning.”

“Fine. Maybe I will.” Susan held up her hand next to her left eye, blocking her peripheral view of Douglas as she walked past his pod. She clattered away on the keyboard, mumbling to herself and wincing at the pain in her wrists. “Are you shitting me?” she exclaimed.

“See I told you. You’ve been on ice for over two centuries.”

“What? No. Not that. I already believed you about the year. It’s that asshole Vault-Tec rep. Of course he spelled my fucking name wrong. Ugh. White people,” she groaned. “Oh and look he did the baby’s name wrong too. How is it so hard? I literally spelled it out, letter by letter, and he just anglicized it anyway. Racist dumb-dumbs.”

Hob walked over to see what Susan was talking about. “I don’t understand. Douglas, Susan, and Shaun Calvin. What’s wrong with that?”

Susan took a step back, aghast. “How did you know which one was my family? Hmm? Maybe your little story is starting to have cracks appear, eh Cait? If that even is your real name?”

Hob panicked for a second. Thankfully her brain got its act together. “The pods are numbered. C6 and C7 match the pods you were in. See the writing on the ground over there?” she responded calmly.

“Oh. Well aren’t you clever?” She turned back to the terminal, jabbing her finger on the screen and disregarding her wrist pain. “You asshole. Not. Our. Names.”

Hob cleared her throat. “So, if your name’s not Susan, what is it?” she asked casually.

“Oh it is. It’s just spelled wrong. S-O-O-S-A-N. Soosan. It’s Persian. I can’t believe that guy saw me and thought ‘oh yeah, this bitch looks like a Susan’. Well I mean, Sanctuary Hills was definitely a ‘Susan’ kind of neighborhood if you know what I mean.” Hob smiled politely and shook her head. “Oh right, why would you know that? Ugh who’s stupid now?” Soosan closed her eyes and tilted her head back, making more groans in frustration.

Hob stared at her. This vault release was already so different from what she had imagined that Hob shrugged internally, trying to accept it. The surface seemed to delight in stymieing even the best-laid plans.

Soosan opened her eyes and brought her head back, flipping her long curly hair forward. “And the baby – ‘Shaun’,” she mocked, moving her fingers in air quotes. “Like Nahid would name her son ‘Shaun’. She’d get her ass kicked for that one. All my parents’ Persian friends would protest outside Nahid’s house, shaking their fingers and making grumpy old people faces.” 

Hob blinked rapidly. She had still been musing on the futility of plans when hearing Shaun’s name brought her back to the present. “I’m sorry, um, what? That wasn’t your son?”

Soosan had been angrily tapping her mouth with her fingers. “Hmm?”

“Did you just say he was someone else’s son? Why is he listed as being in the pod with Doug-, um, with your husband?”

Soosan chuckled mirthlessly. “Oh you know how sisters automatically become babysitters. I don’t know how things are anymore, but we pre-war weirdos had to deal with the issue of who watches the children while mommy goes to work. I’m a useless unemployed ne’er-do-well so I always got stuck with free childcare duty.” She rolled her eyes. “My sister Nahid works, um sorry, worked past tense at Mass Bay Medical Center as a trauma doc. At the last minute she covered someone’s Saturday shift so Dougie and I took the kid for the day. That Vault-Tec moron kept banging on the door. When I opened it he heard the baby crying in the other room. He assumed the baby was mine and insisted that I should protect him from the perils of nuclear fallout. So I put him on the list just to shut that guy up.”

“And you said Shaun is the wrong name?”

“Yeah it’s Shayan. S-H-A-Y-A-N. I literally did it just like that.”

Hob dug at a spot on the ground with the toe of her boot. “So, where is Shayan now? I didn’t notice an infant in the pod over there. I mean, I saw all the,” Hob gestured vaguely behind her head, “but I didn’t see a kid.”

Soosan breathed out and turned to look toward the end of the room. “Those fuckers wanted to steal the baby. My saint of a husband wouldn’t let them, so they blew his brains out,” she said coolly. 

Hob swallowed. She hoped Soosan wouldn’t tell her version of events so clearly. “Do you know who took the baby? Do you remember what they looked like?”

Soosan fluttered her eyes closed, thinking. “They were wearing weird clothes. Like a hazmat suit or something. And this scary bald man came over and stared straight through me.” She gasped, “He called me the backup.”

“Wait, what? Backup? So, whoever he worked for wanted him to keep you alive on purpose?” Hob’s heart started thudding. More of Father’s lies. Or, maybe more of Kellogg’s lies? The Institute’s? She wasn’t entirely sure who to blame.

“Why do you think they were working for someone else?” Soosan narrowed her eyes. “Do you know something I don’t?”

“No,” lied Hob. “I just figure there’s plenty of kids on the surface. Surprisingly the pervasive radiation doesn’t seem to be too big an obstacle to human reproduction. If someone came in here looking for a baby, they probably did it on purpose and for ample payment. Money is the usual motivator, right?”

“Hmm. Sure wish I could talk to Nahid about it. Or Dougie. He was the smarter of the two of us. Of course he’s gone and I’m the one left standing. It probably should have been me holding Shayan but Doug put his vault suit on first. I handed him the baby to get this dumb thing on, and that’s why he’s dead instead of me. This!” Soosan started pulling at the blue fabric, trying to rip it off.

“Stop,” said Hob, holding her forearm firmly but calmly. “I don’t have any clothes you can wear. I understand why you want it off, but don’t ruin that vault suit until we can find you something better.”

Soosan settled down but gave Hob a weird look. “So what’s your deal? Are you some do-gooder, trying to help me? Makes you feel fuzzy inside?” 

Hob laughed, “Something like that. Speaking of being a do-gooder, I have some stimpaks in my bag. Can I help you with those wrists? You fell pretty hard on them.”

“Thanks. They’ve hurt this whole time we’ve been talking but I wanted you to think I was too cool to notice the pain.”

Hob shook her head. This human was very interesting. She motioned Soosan over and injected a half dose into each wrist. Unlike Dixie in front of the Pickman Gallery, Soosan made no indication the stimpak injection hurt. 

“Hey what is that thing next to your foot? It looks like a plastic gun for children.”

Hob looked down. “Oh yeah. It’s called a laser rifle. It ignites fusion cells and creates a concentrated laser beam instead of firing traditional bullets.”

“So everyone just carries guns around now. The future’s fucking bizarre.” 

“It may be bizarre, but it’s not the future anymore – it’s your present.”

“Ugh. Don’t remind me.” Soosan rotated her wrists, testing them gingerly. “Nice job Cait. You some kind of doctor or something?”

Hob laughed, “Me? No. Everyone needs stimpaks nowadays, unfortunately. I’m just a simple scavver. A lot of items and components are rare, so you can make decent money searching for them. I thought I’d hit the jackpot with this vault but I never expected to find a whole person. Now that your wrists are healed, should we open that other pod and, um, help get your husband out?”

“Nope,” said Soosan, heading towards the vault hallway. “That’s a problem for future me. Present me cannot deal with that shit without having a mental breakdown.” She strode down the hall and disappeared around a corner. Dogmeat barked and followed her.


	34. Lustron Houses

“Wait, what? Are you serious?” Hob picked up her bag and gun, jogging awkwardly after Soosan.

“It’s been a weird fucking day. From my perspective, I literally just had my morning coffee.” She paused and looked into the vault scientists’ living quarters, making a little aha sound. “So if you don’t mind, your girl here needs to tend to her morning constitutional.” Hob frowned, raising an eyebrow quizzically. Soosan rolled her eyes. “I’ve had to take a shit for over 200 years, Cait. Just give me like ten minutes. Go on. Shoo.”

“Oh,” stuttered Hob. “I understand. I’ll be waiting over there, on the other side of the reactor.”

After twenty minutes, Hob shifted back and forth on her feet, wondering if she should go see if Soosan needed any help. 

“Yo! Look what I found!” Soosan skipped up. She held up a security baton, telescoping it out and pretending to whack Hob in the knees. “Pretty badass, right? 

“Uh, yes. Very nice. Where’d you find that?”

“There was a security office back there. Came across this bad boy while looking for toilet paper. Spoiler alert, I did not find any, so I’d recommend not going back to that bathroom.” 

“But how did you –“

“Don’t ask. It was not pretty. So, can we get out of here? This vault smells like a leaky air conditioner. I hate breathing in this musty old air.” 

“Yeah, I understand. The exit’s back this way.”

The group headed into the hallway. Dogmeat growled and rushed forward, flashing his white teeth. Several radroaches had crawled out of a crack in the wall. Soosan ran forward, smashing their heads with her security baton, and then grinding them under her feet for good measure. 

Hob watched the scene with wide eyes. “Wow. You’re a natural with that baton.”

Soosan scraped the bottom of her shoe on the floor. “Ugh nasty! What were those things? Are you telling me the future is full of cockroaches the size of housecats? Jesus Christ!” she moaned, wrinkling her face in disgust as the innards kept sticking to her shoe. 

Hob stifled a laugh. “They’re called radroaches. And you may have trouble believing this, but people eat them. Grilled radroach tastes like ass,” she said authoritatively, thinking of Deacon.

Soosan choked back a gag. “Please tell me this is the worst of it. Cait. Please tell me the wasteland is full of big cockroaches and that’s as weird as it gets.”

Hob looked at her sympathetically. “One thing at a time, Soosan.”

Soosan groaned in dread and stomped off, not even taking heed of the overseer’s office area, and through the next passage. She aggressively whacked two more radroaches that had appeared near the vault door controls, this time fighting the human urge to squish a scuttling insect under her feet. Hob jogged after her, following Soosan down the yellow walkway and towards the vault elevator. They stood in the center of the circle, but nothing happened.

“That’s odd,” said Hob. “I’m not sure how to get it to go up automatically.”

“How’d you make it descend?”

“There’s a security trailer outside. You just have to press a button.”

“Okay, so where’s the button down here?”

They looked around, but did not see any obvious controls. Dogmeat barked and ran off to the vault door control area. Hob lightly thunked the side of her head with her hand. “Oh right. The button’s over there. I saw it earlier.” She dropped her pack in the elevator and motioned for Soosan to follow her.

Dogmeat held a wide leather cuff in his mouth, wagging his tail as they approached. “Hey buddy. Whatcha got there?” asked Soosan, crouching down and taking the object. “Oh!” she exclaimed, “That’s right. I totally forgot about these. When Dougie and I entered the vault, there were Vault-Tec people stationed off to the side, handing us these dumb jumpsuits. And for the briefest moment I wondered why we weren’t getting a Pip-Boy too. It was in all the Vault-Tec advertising and billboards and toys and stuff. Well now I understand. No point destroying a Pip-Boy by freezing it in a pod. Assholes.”

Hob looked at it with interest. “What does this ‘Pip-Boy’ thingy do?”

Soosan strapped it to her left wrist. “They do everything, just about. It stands for Personal Information Processor.” She flicked through the controls. “See look. It’s already assessed me. All my vitals, radiation levels, map, section for notes, radio, holotape player. They’re really useful.” She lifted her arm up and down a couple times. “But really heavy. God. My left shoulder muscles are gonna get so buff.”

Hob patted Dogmeat on the head. “Good boy. Let’s get going.” She flipped up the plastic cover and pressed the red square button on the control panel. She waited, but nothing happened. 

“Wait, let me try.” Soosan smashed down the button several more times, increasingly annoyed. “Argh stupid thing! Nothing works anymore! Oh God, we’re going to be stuck down here forever.”

While Soosan was abusing the vault controls, Hob noticed a smooth key attached to the outer edge of the Pip-Boy. “Hey what’s that? It looks like it would fit into this opening over here. The label says ‘Pip-Boy Remote Link’. Try plugging that in.”

Soosan stopped and examined the key. “Oh. I bet you’re right.” She fit it into the round slot and waited. Nothing happened. She removed it hastily and smashed the red button again in frustration. A loud buzzer started sounding and the elevator began slowly creaking upward.

“Shit! Go!” shouted Hob. The three sprinted over to the vault elevator, squeezing onto the platform before it slid past the metal grate. Hob panted heavily. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to think about what would have happened to Soosan’s frail human body if she hadn’t successfully slipped through that narrow opening. Soosan didn’t speak. She barely seemed to breathe. 

A woman’s simpering voice rang out, “Enjoy your return to the surface. And thank you for choosing Vault-Tec.”

As they neared the top, two doors opened horizontally and bright light poured in. Soosan blinked rapidly and held up her hand, blocking the late afternoon sun. The platform slowed and came to a stop with a heavy clunk. She slowly removed her hand, dreading what she might see. A bleak, washed-out landscape stretched out before her. Soosan frowned at the brown, monochromatic view. She stepped forward off the platform and peered down to her neighborhood, counting the houses in her head. Without a word, she turned and walked around the rocks and rubbish, picking up pace and breaking into a jog down the steep path.

“Wait!” said Hob, adjusting her pack and running after her. Dogmeat barked excitedly at the new game everyone was playing and loped ahead.

Soosan shuffled across the narrow foot bridge and headed up to the street. She halted abruptly, turning her head to the left. “Codsworth!” she screamed, taking off like a bullet down the sidewalk. 

“Codsworth? Does the robot have a name?” mumbled Hob to herself. She followed and witnessed Soosan awkwardly hugging a Mister Handy. It put a pincered limb around her back in an effort to reciprocate the embrace. Dogmeat was dancing around, wanting to get in on the action. Hob walked up slowly, not wanting to alarm the robot on the off chance Alan’s hacking wasn’t entirely successful. 

“My little buddy boy! Oh my sweet Codsy baby. I can’t believe you’re here. Are you okay? Is everything still functioning, you know, inside you? Or however it works?” Soosan grabbed the middle part of the Mister Handy and jiggled him. 

“Oh mum, ever the joker! To be perfectly candid, I had all but given up the idea of seeing you and sir again. You’ve no idea the horror these past two centuries have wrought.” Soosan shifted uncomfortably, looking up at Codsworth’s middle eye stalk. “After the bombs, I inspected the Vault 111 entrance, and was relieved to see it intact,” he continued. “I knew you and sir and young Shayan would be cozy inside. Family safety first, above all else! I soldiered on, busying myself day and night, in the hopes that maybe one day your descendants would leave the vault and return home. I kept it as tidy as possible for them. I never dreamed my Miss Soosan would come running up to me!”

She patted the side of his eye stalk. “Oh Codsworth, getting you was one of the best decisions we ever made. I’m so glad at least one part of my world survived.”

Hob cleared her throat. “I’m so sorry to intrude on this sweet family moment. I just wanted to introduce myself to Codsworth. My name’s Cait. I was the one who found a way into the vault and released your, um, Miss Soosan from her cryo-pod.”

Codsworth goggled at her for a moment before floating over. “You are mum’s savior! And a well-mannered one at that. I am forever grateful to you for helping her. If I may ask, where are sir and young Shayan? Did they wish to remain in the vault?”

Hob exchanged a glance with Soosan. “Maybe, ah, mum is better equipped to answer that.” 

Codsworth swiveled around to look at Soosan. She exhaled sharply. “I know you liked serving Dougie, but I need to tell you something. He’s gone, okay? Do you understand that? Sir is gone. He died inside the vault. Can you repeat that back to me? Douglas is dead.” She enunciated the last three words, trying to convince herself of this truth as well as Codsworth.

The robot floated back to her, reaching out a pincer to gesture. “Oh mum. I’m sure you’re confused. It must’ve been quite a shock leaving the vault after all that time. Come inside. I’ve searched from here down into Concord and made a stockpile of food. I’ll get you some Sugar Bombs, your favorite. Have a bite to eat and maybe you can think more clearly.”

Soosan bit the inside of her cheek, trying not to cry. Hob watched Soosan and tried to push back the growing feelings of pity and mercy swelling within her. Despite Father’s stern warnings, she could not resist getting involved. “She’s right, Codsworth. I was down there. Somehow, someone broke into the vault and murdered sir. He was killed trying to protect the baby. The same person who shot Douglas also kidnapped Shayan. Do you understand that?” asked Hob, echoing Susan’s phrasing.

Somehow, Hob was neutral enough to get through to Codsworth. He could not cry, but his voice processors began wailing. “Oh good heavens! My poor Mister Douglas. Such a kind and loving man. How noble to defend his nephew from that awful criminal. Shall I go tend to him, mum?”

“No!” shouted Soosan suddenly. She took a calming breath. “No. No thank you. Codsy I’m not…I can’t…” She cleared her throat sharply. “It’s not time for that. Not yet. Trust me we will go get Dougie. But not this very moment, okay?”

“As you wish, mum. Would you like to inspect your home?” he asked proudly. “I’ve done many chores over the years, though please be kind in your assessment. Vinyl wood floors have a special knack for absorbing nuclear fallout, it seems, despite my constant waxing. However, our geraniums are still the envy of Sanctuary Hills!” said Codsworth, boasting about nonexistent flowers.

Soosan wavered, staring at the orange front door. “You know what, my legs are pretty stiff after being frozen all that time. I think I need to take a walk around the neighborhood. Cait, why don’t you set your pack in the living room, and then come with me. I’ll show you around. Oh and grab some Sugar Bombs from the stockpile while you’re in there.”

Hob did as she was bade and then whistled to Dogmeat. “C’mon boy. Let’s go for a walkies!” He woofed happily and ran a large circle around them before sprinting ahead.

Soosan and Hob headed east toward the loop. Soosan munched on the sugary cereal and pointed out various ruined yellow and turquoise Lustron houses, making lively commentary as they passed. “That was the Sumners’ place. They had these God-awful plastic flamingoes out front by the rose bushes. Like, honey this is Boston, not Miami. Get it straight.” 

Dogmeat ran over to a rusted car, sniffing around its tires. “Ah, that Corvega Atomic V-8, which used to be green by the way, belonged to Mrs. Able – whose first name I shit you not was Mabel. She got the car as a peace offering when she discovered her husband Henry was cheating on her with his secretary. It’s so bad, but Nahid and I made up this song. It goes like this: Mabel, Mabel, if you’re Able, let him bang you on the table.” She clapped and started cackling to herself. 

Hob frowned at Soosan. “Oh my.”

“What! We didn’t sing it around her. Most of the time. Pfft. You’re always so sensitive Cait. Oh, and here is one of my favorite spots.” They arrived at the elm tree. Though dead, it still seemed quite stately. Soosan stood in the middle of the circle. “This is where I accidentally-on-purpose ruined Mrs. Whitfield’s annual Fourth of July barbecue.”

Hob wasn’t wearing glasses, but she pretended to look at Soosan over the top of them. “Soosan, why?”

“Hey! You weren’t here. You wouldn’t understand. She was gonna serve ham and bananas hollandaise for the millionth time. Gag me with a spoon. Everyone was eating this shit like it wasn’t the most disgusting thing in a ten-mile radius. Hellooo, it’s summer! Give me a burger and potato crisps like any other normal person in America. So anyway, I called over Penny’s little yappy dog, picked it up, and put it on the table. When everyone noticed, they started shouting for it to get off, so out of fear the poor thing started pissing all over the food!” Soosan started laughing so hard she had to sit down. 

Hob sat down next to her, back against the tree. “Who was Penny?”

“My favorite neighbor, Penny Rosa. She was the only real friend I had here in this ‘dream’ suburban neighborhood. Since she lost her husband in the war, she had to raise her son alone. Living that single mom lifestyle, just like my sissy. Penny was having a hard time relating to her kid, so she decided they could restore an old Corvega together. But she’s this tiny little thing, so to lift all the heavy auto parts and install them she resorted to buying Buffout from Mr. Hawthorne in that house down the way.” Soosan giggled at the memory. “Petite Penny, off buying drugs. It’s a pretty funny mental image. It’s even funnier cause Timmy’s been wearing his Halloween costume nonstop, even to help with the car. Just a short woman and an astronaut, getting grease everywhere, while a tiny dog yaps nonstop.”

Hob chuckled with Soosan for a bit, enjoying the thought of her intentionally aggravating her neighbors. During the lull in the conversation, she began to detect a faint buzzing sound. “Do you hear that?”

Soosan stopped to listen. “No. What is it?”

Hob got to her feet, looking around. She whistled. “Hey boy, what do we have here? Go find ‘em!” Dogmeat paused for a moment before running into a nearby house. 

Soosan whipped out her security baton and followed him, hollering loudly. Hob ran into the house, but Dogmeat and Soosan had already killed the insects. “Each new horror is more disgusting than the last! What were those things?” asked Soosan, trying to wipe the putrid chartreuse mucus off her security baton.

“Uhh,” said Hob, peering down at the maggots climbing out of the disintegrated insect. She had never actually seen something like this up close. 

“Bloatflies!” replied Codsworth, who had silently appeared in the house. “At least that’s what the mean people in Concord called them. Nasty little buggers. No matter how many I kill they just keep coming back here. I believe they’re attracted to those large purple fruits behind the Able house.” He swept up the dead insects, and floated away, humming absentmindedly. 

Soosan shuddered. “I think I’ve had enough excitement. Today has felt like the longest day of my life. I guess it really was since it lasted 200 years. I’m going to pop down to Mr. Hawthorne’s place. I think I spotted a decent-looking couch, so I’m gonna sleep there tonight.”

“You still haven’t been inside your house,” said Hob, tilting her head knowingly at Soosan.

“Yeah I know. Just need to wait a bit on that. I’m sure you understand.” She suddenly wrapped Hob in a lung-squeezing hug, patting her back roughly. “Thanks Cait. All in all, I’m glad it was you who freed me from that hell instead of some other wasteland weirdo. I’ll probably wake up around 6am. Early to rise and all that.”

“Okay,” replied Hob, unsure what the “all that” referenced. She watched Soosan trudge down the street and felt a surge of protectiveness. “I’ll go get my rifle and keep watch. Codsworth and the dog and I will keep you safe.” Soosan waved a hand in acknowledgment, but did not turn around.


	35. Scorched Rice

Hob felt strange entering Soosan’s house when she wasn’t nearby. She hesitated outside the doorway. “Hey Codsworth, is it okay to enter mum’s home? I need to retrieve my rifle and set up a patrol route around the neighborhood. Gotta make sure we keep her safe from danger.”

“Certainly Miss Cait! That is a very clever idea.”

She grabbed her rifle. “I assume you’ve been guarding Sanctuary Hills since the bombs dropped? Anything particularly dangerous come through here?”

“I recall watching a pack of horrible feral mongrels chasing a deer on the east side of the neighborhood. Well, it wasn’t like any deer I’ve ever encountered seeing as it had two heads. Another time I returned from one of my exploratory visits to Concord and found two men setting up camp in one of the houses! They had toppled all the furniture to erect a barricade of sorts. Well I could not stand for that. I promptly dealt with those squatters.”

“How do you…deal with threats?”

Codsworth gestured with two of his appendages. “I soften them up with a bit of fire, and then use my saw blade to eliminate them,” he said proudly. “No one and no thing is allowed in Sanctuary Hills! Except you and Miss Soosan and the pup, of course.”

Hob hummed a little. “What if there was a group of homeless people who were seeking safety and wanted to build a new life for themselves here?”

He put a pincer to his torso, stroking an imaginary beard while searching his protocols. “I suppose that would be fine. So long as mum approved. After all this is her home.”

Hob nodded. “Glad to hear it Codsworth. I’m gonna start my patrol now. I’ll do the outer rim of the area and then the interior.” She whistled to Dogmeat. “Come boy. Let’s find some bloatflies. Gotta get ‘em! Go find those icky buggies!”

During her night duty, she thought about Preston’s group of settlers. Hob wondered what they would think of Sanctuary with its ruined houses and fallen trees. It left a lot to be desired. Still, it seemed peaceful, especially compared to the perils of Boston. Plus there was plenty of space for a group of twenty. She hoped that Sturges – Mister Fix-It – would be able to make this place more functional. Hob wasn’t sure when Soosan would want to start looking for Shaun, but it made sense to have a safe and clean base of operations for now. 

As she passed the main road out of Sanctuary, Hob recalled Soosan’s bathroom adventure inside the vault. Humans frequently needed toilets. Hob frowned, thinking. She poked her head into the blue house next to where Soosan was sleeping. Luckily it had an intact ceramic toilet. She hurried down the street. “Hey Codsworth, I want to set up a toilet for mum. Can you help me pick up the one I found over here?”

“Of course Miss Cait! How clever you are.” He disconnected the old water lines, and together they carried the toilet near the large bridge. 

“I was thinking we could put it down there next to the river. The water will carry, um, the effluent that way. To the west.”

“One moment Miss Cait. Mum will need more than a barebones commode.” Codsworth floated off to the nearby ruined house. He returned dragging rebar and scraps of metal and wood behind him. The saw blade whirred to life, digging a deep trench to the river. He and Hob propped up sheets of scrap metal to create a sense of privacy, and Codsworth used his flamer to weld them into place. They moved the toilet into position, and he used his flamer again, quickly sanitizing the ceramic. “Ah, one last necessity,” he said, buzzing away quickly. He came back holding a large enamel bucket, filling it with water from the river and placing it inside the little metal outhouse. “For flushing,” he said practically. 

“Nice job Codsworth! Good thinking. You are one handy Mister Handy!”

“You’re too kind,” he giggled, floating down the street as Soosan blearily exited Mr. Hawthorne’s house. “Ah, good morning mum! I hope you slept well."

“Not really Codsy, but thanks for asking,” she said, rubbing her bloodshot eyes. “Do you know where there’s something to drink around here? I think my mouth was open all night and now it’s like the Great Salt Desert in there.”

“Straight away mum!” He returned to Soosan’s house and brought her a Nuka Cola, which she quickly drained, tossing the bottle cap carelessly on the ground. “I can take that glass bottle for you and refill it with water from my condensers.”

She wrinkled her nose, “I don’t know if I want your robot juice. It’s been inside you.” 

“It’s purified water. Cleaner than anything you’d find over there,” he sniffed. “Speaking of the river, Miss Cait suggested setting up commode facilities for you.”

Soosan saw Hob and waved to her. “Oh you guys are the best. I gotta piss like a racehorse.” She ran over to the outhouse, clenching her legs together and holding a hand over her bladder. Hob waited nearby. Soosan jumped out of the outhouse and zipped up her vault suit while letting out a little whoop. “I’m feeling fresh! I’m feeling fancy! So, what’s on the docket today?”

“What’s a docket?”

“Oh sorry, it’s boring law terminology. Just means what are we doing today?”

Hob privately wondered when the settlers would be arriving. “Um, we can do whatever you’d like. Maybe scrounge around the neighborhood? See if we can find anything else useful for setting up more amenities here?”

“Planning to stay a while, eh Caitie-girl? I see how it is. Okay, well let’s walk around. I wanted to check out that purple fruit Codsworth mentioned yesterday.”

They headed over to the Able house. Instead of going around back, Soosan stuck her head inside. “Oooh Mabel I’m in your house! Look I didn’t wipe my feet. Oh no, I’m getting mud everywhere!” she said mockingly. Her eyes fell on a red toolbox in what used to be the hallway closet. She opened it up, digging through the contents. “What have we got here? Flip lighter, wonderglue, fuse, wrenches and screwdrivers, a hammer, bunch of nails. This seems really useful.”

Hob had been looking over her shoulder. “Yeah, all those items are valuable. We should start aggregating everything. Make a big pile. Maybe in front of your house?”

Soosan shook her head, “No way. I don’t want that crap by my house. Use the one across the street. I don’t think Penny would mind. She already had junk everywhere for restoring the Corvega.”

“Got it.” Hob went back to the doorway and shouted, “Codsworth! We’re scavenging for supplies. Can you start moving this stuff to the front yard of the Rosas’ yellow house, across the street from Miss Soosan’s?”

“In a jiffy!” he said, appearing faster than Hob expected.

“Codsy just grab that toolbox there. Oh and can you be a dear and check in the kitchen, through the fridge or the cabinets or whatever’s left?”

“Mum, over the years I have searched the neighborhood for food and drink but I have never collected anything else. What sorts of items should I gather?”

Hob added, “You know what, just take everything. We can find a use for it, even if it’s not obvious now.”

“Understood Miss Cait.” He hovered in the run-down kitchen, quickly opening and closing cabinets while humming to himself.

“Oh wait, I came over here to see the purple fruit,” said Soosan, standing up suddenly. “I always get distracted so easily!” She and Hob went around to the back side of the building, stopping not at the wild mutfruit trees, but at the slanted metal doors to a root cellar. Soosan wrenched open the heavy door and peered down into the cellar. “Hey Codsy,” she said, standing on her tiptoes to look at him through the gaps in the blue house, “how come you never mentioned this cellar/bunker thing?”

He floated to the wall and stuck an eye stalk through a gap. “Oh that? I’ve never been down there. I didn’t think it was relevant.”

Soosan frowned and jabbered animatedly. “This is super relevant! I see a bunch of cans of food and sandbags and stuff. C’mon Codsworth P. Calvin. Get it together. Come help me bring this stuff up.”

“Of course mum.” 

Hob descended the ladder first and inspected the small bunker. The dirt walls were reasonably reinforced, and the entrance seemed easy to overlook. If anything menacing ever attacked Sanctuary, at least she could bring Soosan to hide down here.

“Whoa, a safe! Oh my God, I wonder where the key is stashed. Hey Cait, how much do you want to bet that bad boy is stacked to the brim with porno magazines? Henry Able the pervert would totally do that. It wouldn’t surprise me if Mabel didn’t even know about this cellar. See look, there’s a dirty mattress and a bunch of beer.” Soosan’s eyes got wide. “Are those gold bars? Actual gold bars? Oh man, what was that guy up to? Henry you nasty boy.” She shook her head and handed items over to Hob, who passed them up to Codsworth. 

The group spent the next few hours clearing the Able house and sorting through the scavenged items. “I am famished!” exclaimed Soosan. “Caitie-poo are you hungry?”

Hob was sifting through a pile of junk metal. “Oh that’s okay. I dipped into my food rations earlier, when you were asleep,” she lied. “Don’t want to be overzealous and eat them too fast.”

“Well Codsy said he’s been collecting food over the years. I’m sure there’s plenty to spare,” Soosan offered kindly, nudging Hob with her shoulder. “Hey now, you’ve never had Codsworth’s famous scorched rice. I uploaded to his processor all my mom’s ultra-secret family recipes that she brought here from Iran. He’s not quite the cook she was,” said Soosan, lowering her voice, “but he’s pretty damn close. At least with him around, Doug could eat food that was, well, edible. I may be many things, but a chef is not one of them.”

Hob remembered how delicious Takahashi’s noodles were in Diamond City. “Scorched rice? That sounds really interesting. Okay, let’s do it.”

Soosan grinned. “Hey Codsy! Yoo hoo! Cait here is desperate to try your tahdig!”

The robot floated over, hesitating. “Oh mum. I have some bad news.”

“Oh God. What is it Codsworth? Just give it to me straight.”

Two of his eye stalks looked away in shame. “Before the bombs dropped, I had made a grocery list. But you and sir were going to take young Shayan to the park, so you said you’d be going food shopping later. And, well, you recall what happened that morning.”

Soosan started breathing hard. Her words came out in a whisper, “Codsworth, are you telling me there’s no rice?”

“I’ve checked in Concord but there were people with these sharp stabby things and they chased me off. Based on my searches, I haven’t come across any rice. Anywhere. There might be some left somewhere in the wastes, but you shouldn’t get your hopes up.”

Soosan threw down the pieces of the broken chair she was taking apart. “There’s no fucking rice?! This shitty apocalyptic future sucks!” She stomped off toward Mr. Hawthorne’s house, slamming the door behind her. 

Codsworth apologized, “Please forgive Miss Soosan. She is rather…attached to certain Persian dishes. I believe they remind her of happier times with the Shirdel family.” 

“Shirdel?”

“Her maiden name. Mum’s family from Iran. Though I have only met them once. The only members of the Shirdel family I frequently interacted with were Young Shayan and Miss Nahid.”

“Ah. Shayan’s mother.”

“Indeed. Mum sometimes has these, ah, moods,” he said delicately. “Usually Mister Douglas was in charge of calming her down. But he is – “ the robot broke off sadly. “She has taken a shine to you. Perhaps you could chat with her? Lift her spirits?”

Hob wavered, “I can keep her physically safe, Codsworth. I’m not sure I’d be good at the rest of this emotional, caring stuff. That’s not in my wheelhouse.”

“Please Miss Cait. I can’t do this alone, especially now that sir is gone.”

Hob smiled. “I can see why see likes you so much, ‘Codsy’.” She winked at him and headed down the street.

In Mr. Hawthorne’s house, Soosan was pacing back and forth with her fingers interlaced on the top of her head. She angrily kicked over the old dining table before flopping into a red armchair. 

“Soosan?” said Hob timidly, “Mind if I join you?”

“It’s a free country. Well, maybe not anymore. Come to think of it, it never was,” she sighed, rubbing her temples with her eyes closed.

They sat in silence for a bit. Hob twiddled her thumbs. “What was your sister like?” she asked cautiously.

“Nahid?” 

“Yeah, you’ve mentioned her several times since leaving that pod. It seems like she was really important to you.”

Soosan sighed again. “Yeah she was. She is. Don’t get me wrong, she drove me fucking nuts – the way all little sisters do. But I loved the crap out of that girl. She was so sweet and caring, exactly who you’d want as a doctor. Of course, sweet and caring people often get taken advantage of. Nahid could be a bit of a doormat, which is how she ended up with that shitty husband of hers. The moment she and Roger got married he dialed down the effort to zero. Wait, no. Not zero when it came to things he wanted to do, but definitely zero when it came to things Nahid wanted to do. He lost his job right after they got married but he refused to help around the house. Even though they had plenty of money to afford a Mister Handy for some reason Roger didn’t want one. That asshole wanted her to do all the work. Just because.”

“What did your family think of him? Your mother and father?”

Soosan laughed ruefully. “Oh they hated him too. Especially after Nahid got pregnant, Roger started getting weirdly jealous and possessive, and more aggressive and unpredictable. He kept slamming cabinets and shouting so loudly that the neighbors called the cops on them a couple times. But he’d act all charming around the police so nothing ever came of it. But then I got involved and all of a sudden my parents decided I was the bad guy, just because I broke up an unhappy couple before their baby was born.”

“I see. Earlier Codsworth said that he only met the Shirdels once.”

“Yeah, right after we bought Codsy, actually. Dougie and I hosted a big family dinner to patch things up. But the damage was already done. My parents could not get over how I ruined their vision of having these perfect daughters with perfect husbands and perfect lives. I mean, to give them credit, they were pretty damn close. Nahid was a doctor, and I was a lawyer. That’s like winning a silver medal in the immigrant parent Olympics. It would’ve been a gold medal had I pursued engineering instead.”

Hob frowned, “What’s a lawyer?”

“Oh how silly. Of course lawyers don’t exist anymore.” Soosan got up, dragged the wooden coffee table closer to her, and propped her feet up on it. She seemed more relaxed now. “There used to be all these laws – rules – that existed to protect people. Except laws can get really complicated, so regular people sought the help of lawyers since we’re experts on the law. Well, most of us.”

“So that’s how you broke up Nahid and her husband?”

“Exactly. Since I specialized in family law, I helped her get a divorce and sole custody of their unborn son. No child support, unfortunately, because Roger was unemployed. But once Shayan came into the picture, yours truly had to step up and help with the baby,” said Soosan, bowing her head slightly. “Should’ve seen that one coming. I mean, I didn’t have a problem with it, especially since Codsy did the lion’s share of the work. I’m not really a kid person, especially around babies. They just cry and poop and that’s it. At least you can have a conversation with little kids, hear all their weird internal thoughts.”

Hob laughed, remembering synth Shaun. He definitely had a never-ending stream of internal thoughts. She considered the greater mission for The Institute and decided once again to interfere, just a tiny bit. “What do you think happened to Shayan? Do you think he’s still out there somewhere?”

Soosan nervously twirled her long curls around her fingers. “Oh God, I don’t know Cait. Given how shitty this world is it seems pretty unbelievable to assume he’s alive and unharmed. Maybe he is, I dunno. But if you’re right about people in the wasteland not needing help having babies, then I can’t imagine what someone would want with him. Why it was worth,” she paused, taking a breath, “why someone needed to kill Dougie in order to kidnap an infant. I mean, you know more about this strange life than I do. Why do you think someone would do that?”

Hob did not mean for her question to backfire like this. “Uhh, you know, everything in this world comes down to radiation. I don’t know how someone found out about the cryo stuff in Vault 111, but maybe they wanted to, um, study a radiation-free human?” said Hob, already regretting how many hints she was giving Soosan. 

She sat up suddenly, “Oh man that’s good. You’re so smart! Because that would explain why the bald guy called me the backup, and why the people with him were wearing hazmat suits. Maybe one day they’ll come back to the vault for me and we can catch them in the act! We should set up some traps or something in there.”

Hob nodded slowly, “Yeah that sounds like a good idea. I don’t think we could make any traps now based on the supplies around here, but maybe at some point?”

Soosan clapped excitedly, “Ooh yes we’re going to trap their asses and then interrogate them, lawyer style.”

Hob smiled at Soosan’s enthusiasm. “Well before we do anything like that, you should probably eat something.”

“Caitie! Look at you. You’re like a nonstop good idea parade. It’s like having Dougie back. Okay, let’s get some grub. I’ll get Codsworth to heat up some Blamco for us.”

Hob bit back a smirk, thinking of Deacon’s ridiculous nickname for MacCready. “Sounds good. And when we’re done I’ll start the night patrol.”

“What, no, Codsy said you did that last night too. You gotta get some sleep sometime Cait. Let me help. I promise I’m not some bumbling moron from the past. I can do guard duty, at least for a few hours. I have this security baton and everything. Dogmeat can come with me,” she said, getting to her feet. “By the way, why on earth would you name him that? It’s literally so gross, no offense.”

Hob laughed, “None taken.”


	36. The White Church

The sunrise of Soosan’s third day out of Vault 111 came and went. She and Hob had each completed two patrols during the night, with Dogmeat’s help of course. Somewhere he had discovered an old tennis ball and kept nudging Hob to get her to play.

“Okay buddy I know, I know.” She threw the ball in the direction of the broken-down swing set in the center of the neighborhood. He tore after it, overestimating where it would land, and nearly crashed into a nearby hedge. Hob was too lost in thought to notice the humorous sight. According to what Justin Ayo had said before she left, Preston’s settler group should have been here by now. They were late by at least a full day. She chewed her lip and threw the ball again for Dogmeat. Something was definitely wrong.

“Caitie-poo!”

Hob was jerked out of her thoughts. “Good morning, Soosan. Did you sleep better than the night before?”

“A little bit. What do you think? Do I look as refreshed as a lazy teenager during summer vacation?” She gave Hob a fake smile and fluttered her eyelashes flamboyantly.

“Uh, maybe?” Hob examined Soosan’s appearance. “Actually, your hair seems different. Right there around the front. It’s not so black anymore. I think you have more gray hairs now than two days ago.”

Soosan rolled her eyes. “I don’t doubt it. I got my first gray hair at 21. Here I am, seven years later – oh wait, I mean 217 years later – and experiencing this series of unfortunate events has kicked those little bastards into overdrive.” She wove her fingers through her curly hair, twisting it up into a bun. “So, what are we doing today? Please let it be something exciting. I’m bored out of my mind.”

Hob voiced a half-formed idea. “Now that you kind of know what’s going on, we could venture out of the neighborhood in the direction of Concord? Just to see what’s out there.”

Soosan clapped and hopped up and down. Dogmeat watched her and barked excitedly. “Ooh yes, that sounds fun! Let me go get my baton and we can hit the open road, wind in our hair, bugs in our eyes.”

“Oh wait, it’s not a good idea to go gallivanting around the wasteland unprepared.”

Soosan pouted, “Of course. That makes sense. You sound like Dougie before one of our summer camping trips. What should we do? Just give me some orders, boss.” She saluted Hob.

They headed back to Soosan’s house, though she refused to enter. Hob dragged out her heavy pack and emptied some of the contents, explaining their presence. “Rad-X and RadAway – very important to prevent or reverse radiation exposure. Stimpaks of course for treating injuries in the field. These are the fusion cells for my laser rifle.” She pulled out a smaller bag and jiggled it around. “Hear that? Those are caps, like the ones from Nuka Cola bottles. This is the currency of the modern world.”

Soosan laughed, not realizing Hob was serious. “So you mean yesterday when I opened that Nuka Cola and drank it, me littering was actually me throwing money on the ground?” She laughed again, slapping her thigh. She looked up and saw Hob’s perplexed face. “Oh wait, you’re not joking? Oh my God I really did throw money on the ground.” Soosan sprang up and ran down the street, picking through piles of dead leaves before finding the bottle cap and running back. “Here you go – one money thingy.”

Hob opened the bag and added the cap. “Between you and me, there are 2,000 caps in here. Well, 2,001 now. That may sound like a lot but it’ll go quick. If anything happens to me today, I want you to have this money.” Soosan started to speak but Hob interrupted. “Please. We’ll most likely be fine, but just in case I’m going to stash this down in the Ables’ root cellar. We don’t need to be carrying around that amount of caps. It would make us a prime target for raiders.”

“Raiders? Jesus. I guess both the past and the future are full of pillaging bastards.”

“Exactly,” said Hob, getting up. “Let me go squirrel this away. In the meantime, think of a way to improve your weapon. A security baton is fine for bloatflies and radroaches, but we need to be ready to face nastier creatures.”

Soosan wandered over to the growing junk pile across the street and rifled through it, searching for something she saw yesterday. As Hob returned, Soosan called her over. “Hey Cait! Check me out!” She practiced swinging a wooden bat she’d found. “Penny would die if she knew I was using Timmy’s treasured baseball bat to beat the shit out of raiders.” She swung it back and forth a few more times. “Pretty good, right?”

Hob examined the bat. “It’s good, not great. Let’s amp it up a bit. Really make you a fearsome sight to behold.” She dug through the junk, searching for something to add. Finally, she pulled up a long string of barbed wire. 

Soosan nodded fervently. “Oh hell yeah! Now that’s what I’m talking about! Hey Codsy, your two most favorite girls in the world need a bit of help.”

Codsworth floated over eagerly. “Can I be of assistance mum?”

“Yes, we need your mega robot strength to embed this barbed wire in the baseball bat. It can’t get even slightly loose or else I might cut myself.”

“Of course mum.” They held out the bat while his pincer limb wedged the barbs through the bat’s hard surface. “There we go. By the by, what is the intended use for such a device?”

“First of all, the main use is to look cool. That’s most important. The second use is for defense,” said Soosan, giving her new weapon a few swings. As it whooshed through the air the barbs made a sharp whistling sound.

“We’re doing a little exploratory trip to Concord,” added Hob. “We want to beef up our defensive capabilities.”

“Shall I accompany you?”

Soosan and Hob exchanged a glance. “Actually, it’s your top duty to defend my house Codsy. Make sure no one fucks with my neighborhood. You’ve been doing such a good job of that for the past two centuries.” She poked his metallic torso playfully. 

“With pleasure Miss Soosan,” said Codsworth as he floated off, eye stalks twisting and turning. 

Hob turned to Dogmeat, “But you’re coming with us, aren’t you pal?” Dogmeat barked happily and ran towards the main bridge out of Sanctuary. “Okay, checklist time. Pack, rifle, ammo, stimpaks, radiation medicine, and let’s see, how much food and water should we bring?”

Soosan shrugged. “You’d know more than I would.”

Hob ran inside the house to grab some Yum Yum Deviled Eggs, potato crisps, and bottles of purified water. Soosan saw the items and whined, “Something sugary too Cait? Pretty please?” 

Hob huffed and grabbed two boxes of Fancy Lads Snack Cakes. “There. For Miss Sweet Tooth. I’ll carry these supplies. You just hold on to that bat and watch for anything mean headed our way.” Soosan squealed and ran ahead, marching with more pep in her step than Hob had yet seen.

After the group crossed the bridge, Dogmeat barked and ran over to the deserted Red Rocket Filling Station, sniffing the old gas pumps. “Hey, at least this place is still here!” said Soosan happily. “That’s crazy. We used to stop by here every Saturday, filling up my bike before we took her out for a scenic drive.”

“Her?” 

“Yeah, it was a silly thing people did. We sometimes called motorcycles and cars and boats ‘she’. I don’t know why. Maybe because we loved our vehicles so much. Even though I always called my bike ‘Elvis the Pelvis’, she was still a lady. Oh God Doug hated that name! He’d blush and get all embarrassed. He’d say, ‘Soo, quit saying the word ‘pelvis.’ We don’t want Mrs. Callahan to hear you.’ Well the joke was on him because I revved the engine so deafeningly loud going past the Callahans’ that she never would have heard me screaming ‘pelvis!’ at the top of my lungs.” Soosan stopped walking because she was laughing so hard. 

Hob smiled. “Between that and the peeing dog during the barbecue, your neighbors must have had, um, a lot of opinions about you. At least you had Penny.”

Soosan cackled, “That’s putting it mildly. I really only had two friends – Nahid and Penny. And my Dougie of course. And I guess I’d include Codsworth in there. Everyone else could just fuck right off. But now, hey! I’ve added Caitie-girl to that VIP list. Most exclusive list in Boston.” Dogmeat barked loudly. “And you too bud. Forgive the oversight.” He whimpered and jumped up, trying to lick Soosan’s face.

As they passed the Red Rocket, Hob spotted a large object up ahead. She squinted, “Huh. I think that’s a dead Brahmin up there.”

Soosan wrinkled her nose, “Whew, I can smell it from here. The future is not full of pleasant odors, is it? What is a Brahmin anyway?”

“Big, dumb, four legs, two heads. Main pack animal used to transport heavy goods across the Commonwealth,” replied Hob, plagiarizing Trashcan Carla’s turn of phrase. 

“Oh right, that makes sense. It kind of looks like an ox. Hey, in the future we’ve somehow turned back the clock and now it’s pioneer prairie days, just like they taught us in school. Except women don’t have to wear that big bonnet and skirt hoop-dee-doo. Thank goodness for that, eh?”

Hob smiled. About half of Soosan’s references went straight over her head, but she figured this made her look like the average wastelander, so she didn’t press the issue.

Soosan checked the map on her Pip-Boy. As they went right at the fork and entered the outskirts of Concord, Hob pulled out her rifle and kept it out. All those tall buildings made her nervous. Dogmeat’s pace had also slowed as he sniffed every corner more thoroughly. Soosan ambled along, not really paying attention to lurking dangers. Hob wondered if she had appeared as insouciant as that on her first trip to the surface. She shook her head, cringing slightly at the thought of how much everyone around her must have been picking up the slack. 

A deep crack echoed through the air. Both Hob and Soosan froze, listening to the sounds of shouts and more gunfire. “Psst, this way,” whispered Hob, gesturing down a road that ended at a white church. They crept along, though Soosan kept accidentally dragging her bat on the ground every now and then.

“Hey, what if we tried hiding in there?” asked Soosan, pointing to a metal hatch in one of the alleyways. “It looks just the entrance to the Ables’ root cellar. Maybe we could wait out this gunfire?”

Hob shook her head, whispering, “Who knows what’s down there? It could be worse than what’s up here. At least on the surface we can run away quickly if we get in over our heads.”

At the end of the road, Hob poked her head around the corner before quickly pulling it back. “Shh, let’s wait. Instead of rushing in, we can listen and hear them duking it out. They often end up solving their problems themselves,” she said, echoing what Deacon explained before encountering Dixie in front of the Pickman Gallery.

Soosan nodded, looking around. She nudged Hob, “Hey Cait, do you think there’s anything dangerous up in that church bell tower? We could get a better view of what’s happening without them seeing us.”

Hob hesitated, poking her head back around the corner. Gunfire was being exchanged between raiders in the street and someone up on the balcony of a grand building. She whistled to Dogmeat, pointing at the church. “Go over there. Check that out.” The dog slunk across the road without being noticed by the raiders. “Okay, now you Soosan. Be sure to lift up that bat.”

She crouched and ran across the street, stopping to hide for a moment behind a large red fire hydrant. Once inside the church, Soosan gave Hob a thumbs up through a window. Hob took a deep breath and followed. She looked back out at the street, confident that no one had spotted them. They headed to the back of the church and up the stairs. 

“Careful, some of these floor boards seem rotten,” said Hob, watching Dogmeat trot down the gallery area and towards the second set of stairs. The dog stopped at the spiral staircase, hackles raised. 

“Shit,” whispered Soosan. “Somebody must be up there. Shit. What do we do?” she asked, tugging at Hob’s sleeve. 

“Let’s think,” answered Hob, trying to ignore her rapidly beating heart thudding beneath the vesture. “If there is a raider up there, it’s probably a sniper. I could always sneak up behind him and hit him with the butt of my rifle, knock him down to the ground. No bullets fired, no attention drawn. Just looks like he lost his balance and had an accident.”

Soosan nodded hesitantly. “Okay, that makes sense. Dogmeat and I can stand on either side of this doorway. If the guy comes down we can both knock him out.” 

Hob readied her laser rifle. Her hands were shaking, but she turned slightly, trying to hide her fear from Soosan. She took slow steps up the stairs, keeping as much weight off them as possible so they wouldn’t creak. As the blue sky came into view, Hob saw the sniper. He was wearing a plain white t-shirt and jeans, and had black hair. She took another careful step, but the old wood let out a noisy squeak. 

In a flash he leapt down from his sniping spot and pinned Hob against the wall with a knife to her throat. He growled, “Talk. Now.”

Hob saw her terrified reflection in his mirrored sunglasses. Without thinking, she breathed, “Deacon?”

He frowned, applying slightly more pressure to the knife. “Who sent you? How do you know that name?”

She coughed slightly and wiggled beneath his weight, her chest heaving against his body. “No one sent me. We just wanted to investigate Concord. Poke around a little. Didn’t expect to find some big raider shoot-out.”

“We?”

Hob was amazed at how frightening Deacon could be. Her road leathers squeaked as she tried to twist and alleviate the pressure on her throat. “My friend and the dog. We thought we’d be safe from the fighting by hiding inside the church,” she gulped.

“Take me to them. Now,” he implored through gritted teeth.

“They’re at the bottom of the stairs waiting for me.”

“Hmm. Hey there!” he called out, his voice somehow weaving together menacing and friendly tones. “Your friend here wants to introduce me to you. We wouldn’t want anyone to get hurt. Let’s all have a nice, pleasant chat.”

“Okay,” said Soosan timidly while gripping her bat tightly.

Deacon turned Hob around to ease her down the stairs while still holding the knife to her throat. He glanced down, in one motion taking in the appearance of both the pack and the laser rifle. A hypothesis formed in his head, and he loosened the pressure of his knife with every step. 

At the bottom of the spiral staircase, Hob waved her arms. “Don’t do anything, please. Soosan, can you drop your bat on the ground? Dogmeat, lie down,” she commanded. 

As Deacon walked through the doorway, his eyes fell on Soosan’s blue vault suit. He already knew what number would be stitched on the back, but for now he decided to have a little fun. “Hey there. Soosan, is it? The name’s Deacon. Your skin is just beautiful. Like a baby’s bottom. Tell me all your beauty secrets,” he said, cocking his head to the side cheekily. 

She scowled at him. “Fuck off dickhead. Just let Cait go, and we can pretend this never happened.”

“Good gracious! Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?” he asked in mock outrage.

Soosan looked at Hob, “Please just let me kick his ass. Please. I need to break in this bat.”

“Oh I wouldn’t do that. See Cait and I are old friends. We go way back.” He released Hob and she stumbled forward, rubbing her neck.

“What? Caitie you know this bastard? Is this some sort of set-up?”

“No, nothing like that.”

“Well, tell her how you know me, then,” said Deacon, staring at Hob with a raised brow. 

Hob swayed slightly on her feet. She didn’t know how, but he had caught her. She had to answer very carefully. If she gave away too much The Institute would surely come and whisk her away to an unknown punishment. She took a deep breath and turned to Soosan, “I met Deacon in Goodneighbor, which is a settlement in Boston. Full of all sorts of sketchy people. After meeting someone there, you generally assume you’ll never see them again. In this case I guess that’s not true.” Hob expected a reaction from Soosan, but she was absolutely silent.

Deacon smiled triumphantly. “So, here we are. Just soaking in the moment. This is nice.” 

Soosan fixed him with a piercing stare. “If you knew her, why did you walk her down the stairs with a knife to her throat?”

Deacon laughed. “Calm down there, vaultie. Clearly you’re new to the wasteland, but out here, even if you know someone, sneaking up on them in their sniper blind is kind of a bad idea.” 

“Okay. Let’s say that’s true. Why are you here at all?” asked Soosan, using her best intimidating lawyer voice.

Hob turned to Deacon, frowning. “Yeah, she’s right. You’re really far from the city.” She wondered if Hancock had sent him up here for some reason.

He smiled again. “Got word some friends needed assistance. I would like to be providing them with assistance, except we’re currently having a one-on-one interview. Capisce?”

“What friends?” asked Soosan. 

“Some nice people who just lived through a full-on massacre of their settlement. They managed to get all the way here, and wouldn’t you know it, this huge group raiders have them trapped in the Museum of Freedom. If you want to practice your baseball swing, how about you help me clear out the remaining raiders so we can get inside and assess the situation?”

Soosan looked at Hob. “What do you think?”

“If people in this shitty world need help, then we help them. Otherwise, there’s not much motivation to wake up every day knowing you risk a violent death,” she said, assuming Deacon would remember their earlier conversation. “I say we go take care of some raiders.”

Deacon smiled and gestured to the street below. “All right ladies, let’s go. You too, mutt.”


	37. Impeccable Timing

Soosan stood near what used to be a general goods store. She tapped her bat repeatedly against the brick wall, trying to dislodge the bloody chunks of flesh from the barbed wire encircling it. 

“Not bad for a newbie,” commented Deacon, who was crouched over the nearest body inspecting its pockets. “We need to work on your form a bit. You waste a lot of energy making those wild swings. Instead of being so rash, take a second to line up your shot first. You’ll last longer in a melee encounter.”

Soosan put a hand on her hip. “Buddy, I’ve been living in this world for like three days. Cut me some slack.”

He smiled nastily, “Not how it works out here. But thanks for playing.” He tossed a couple of the raider’s stimpaks towards Hob. Dogmeat followed the arc with his eyes.

“We’ve been loitering here for a while. Shouldn’t we be heading inside? You said there are probably raiders in there too,” asked Hob nervously. 

“I admire your enthusiasm, Cait,” he replied, emphasizing her new moniker, “But the first rule of the wasteland is: always restock when you get a chance. Gives you the ability to assess your inventory while taking a breather. Soosan, are you writing this down? There will be a quiz later.”

She groaned and wandered into the general goods store, searching for supplies. Once she was out of earshot, Hob hissed at Deacon, “Hey! Lay off Soosan. She’s had a really traumatic few days. You being a dick is not going to help!”

He dumped a handful of miscellaneous ammo into her pack. “Your goal is to help her, sugar tits. Holding her hand through everything is not going to help her. ‘A smooth sea never made a skilled sailor’ and all that. She needs to learn how to survive up here, sooner rather than later.”

Hob glared at him. “Try to lose the mocking tone then. I know you do the whole charming asshole thing, but can you ratchet it down a couple levels?”

He stopped looting for a moment and grinned. “You think I’m charming?”

“What? No,” said Hob. A faint blush crept up her face and she busied herself with the possessions of the dead raider nearest to her.

“Whatcha talking about?” said Soosan, who had appeared behind them.

“Ammo,” said Deacon smoothly. “None of this matches my rifle, but ammo is so valuable you should never walk away from it. That’s rule number two of living in the wasteland.”

“Gotta make those caps anyway you can,” replied Soosan. “See, I know about caps. I know a lot of things. For instance, I found these chems stashed on the roof of that building and I figured grabbing them would be a good idea. Med-X, Buffout, Psycho, Jet. All of these could come in handy.”

Deacon applauded mockingly. “Amazing. Apparently, she can be taught.”

Soosan looked at Hob and gave her a manic smile. “I kind of wish you had knocked him off the bell tower when you had the chance,” she said cheerily.

“Can you guys simmer down, please? There are people inside who need our help and you two are bickering like some old married couple.”

Deacon grabbed Soosan’s hand. “We’re not bickering. We’re best friends. See look!” He swung her arm back and forth vigorously. She wrenched it away, huffing angrily.

Hob rubbed her face in exasperation. “I’m going inside now. You may follow me if you wish. Come on Dogmeat.” She took Soosan’s chems, placed them at the top of the pack, and heaved it onto her back. Hob headed toward the Museum of Freedom and opened the door.

Deacon skipped up next to her and crossed the threshold. “Snipers first.” He looked over his shoulder at Soosan and sassed her, “That’s another rule of the wasteland.” She groaned and stomped after him. 

Inside, Deacon spotted eight raiders. “Okay, I’m going to hang out in the shadows of this doorway and pick off the guys up above. You two and the dog should head on through the rooms on this side. Swingy McAngry here can bash open the heads of anyone at close quarters. Got it?”

Soosan made an agreement sound in her throat and turned on her heel without another word. Hob made an apologetic face at Deacon and followed her. In a room full of broken display cases, Soosan snuck up on a raider who was poking his head out into the atrium. She swung her bat in the air and broke his back with a sickening crunch. He crumpled to the floor.

“Remind me not to piss you off,” said Hob, wide-eyed.

Soosan chuckled. “When Dougie and I went camping, I loved chopping the wood for our campfire. I guess there’s not much difference here, except instead of firewood it’s a raider,” said Soosan casually, stepping over the body. “Hmm, what’s that down there? Behind that locked door?” She ran down a sloping pile of debris and hid next to the metal enclosure, Hob and Dogmeat following closely behind.

Hob examined the area. “It looks the wiring for the door is connected to this terminal.” She ducked down and clicked on the keyboard. “Damn. Locked behind a password. I’m not a hacking expert by any means, but I could give this a try.”

“Wait, let me,” whispered Soosan. She hummed a little, searching through the words. “Aha! Got it. COACH. Interesting. Maybe like an old horse-drawn coach? That would make sense in this place.” She unlocked the security gate and slipped inside. “Ooh, what’s this? A fusion core? Mama likey.” 

Hob took the fusion core from Soosan and stuffed it in her bag. “Let’s head back up those stairs. Hey, Soosan? Where are you going?”

Soosan had spotted a red toolbox on the other side of the enclosed area. “Scavenging for useful things! Like we did in the Ables’ house.” She began sorting through the items.

Hob cleared her throat, panicking slightly. “I know Deacon said to restock when you get the chance, but the chance usually comes after there are no longer people shooting at you.”

“Oh right, right.” She slapped each of her cheeks. “Focus, Soosan! This will be here later.”

As they headed up the stairs to the second level, they heard a couple raiders chatting amicably, ignoring the fighting in the atrium. Soosan hid behind a wall, breathing hard. In a flash she ran around the corner, whacking one raider in the throat and the other square in the chest. She unstuck her bat from the man’s chest, turning to Hob and motioning her forward.

Hob noticed that the raider bleeding from the chest was still moaning. “Sorry,” she whispered, blasting him in the head with laser fire. “No point making you suffer.” 

After slinking up the staircase to the third floor, Hob saw Soosan crouching next to a door, listening hard. “At least she’s a fast learner,” thought Hob. She was jerked back to reality when Soosan burst through the door, screaming like a banshee.

“Get fucked!” she bellowed, raising the bat above her head.

“Whoa! Take it easy!” pleaded a familiar voice.

Hob pushed the door open and saw a wide-eyed Preston facing off against Soosan. “Stop!” shouted Hob, stretching out her arm. “That’s who we’re here to help.”

Soosan dropped her bat and rushed forward. “Oh my God, man, I’m so sorry. I heard the weapon sounds and just assumed. Ah shit. I’m sorry.” She reached out and half hugged him before shaking his hand. “My name’s Soosan. I promise I don’t usually threaten random people.”

“Preston Garvey, Commonwealth Minutemen,” he responded, “That’s one hell of a way to introduce yourself, ma’am.”

“You guys having a party? What gives with my invitation?”

Hob whirled around in shock. “Deacon, how did you sneak up behind me? I didn’t hear you.”

He smiled, giving her finger guns. “I am the stealth master, baby cakes.” He walked over to Preston, hugging him jovially. “P-dog! Glad to see you’re safe and sound. How’s the rest of the gang?”

Preston swallowed, “Um, it’s been rough. In Malden, MacCready stayed behind at Med-Tek, so Fahrenheit escorted our group from there. Mama Murphy had a vision that led us to the Super Duper Mart in Lexington. Since it seemed safe, Fahrenheit returned to Goodneighbor. We tried to gather supplies in the store but the whole place came to life. There were more ferals than I’ve ever seen, including in Jamaica Plain. They decimated our group. A month ago there were twenty of us, and yesterday there were eight. Josh, Emma, and Anthony wanted to go back to Lexington to see if they could find any survivors. They haven’t returned, so I assume the worst has happened. Currently, there’s only five of us.” 

Hob was lost in thought, thinking about how gloomy Preston had been in their hotel room in the Rexford when explaining the Quincy Massacre. He had put on a brave face then, but now he seemed inconsolably distant. “Jesus Christ,” said Hob. “I’m so sorry. That’s terrible.”

“Oh, pardon me. We haven’t been introduced. I’m Preston. What’s your name, ma’am?”

“Cait. Nice to meet you. Soosan and I were exploring Concord when we ran into Deacon. He said he was here helping fend off some raiders. I didn’t know it was your group he was assisting.”

“You’ve heard of us?” asked Preston, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, just from my time in Goodneighbor,” said Hob hastily, not wanting to linger on this subject. “So, you said there’s five of you left?”

Preston sighed and opened the door to the small room behind him. “Hey everyone, you remember Deacon? And this is Cait and Soosan.”

Sturges had been chatting with Mama Murphy, but he stopped abruptly when the new people walked in the room. Marcy was kneeling next to Jun, who was rocking back and forth on the floor. Dogmeat trotted up to Mama Murphy and put his head in her lap. She stroked his fur and began talking to him quietly.

Soosan swallowed the lump in her throat that had risen at the sight of such broken people. “Hey Cait, why don’t we open that pack? I’m sure these nice folks are hungry. We have some food and bottles of water if you need it.” Nobody moved or said anything. She stood awkwardly. “Uh, okay then. I’ll just leave this open. Take whatever you want. Maybe some Fancy Lads will cheer you up,” she said kindly.

Deacon stood near the door, arms crossed while surveying the group behind his sunglasses. “So Preston, what’s the plan? You still heading to Sanctuary?”

Soosan had been fussing with Hob’s bag. She jerked her head up, eyes wide. “Sanctuary? You mean Sanctuary Hills? Why are you going there? How do you know about that place?”

Sturges answered, “It’s all thanks to Mama Murphy. She has the gift of The Sight. Back in Goodneighbor she had a vision that we’d find salvation in sanctuary. This nice fella named Hob told us there was a place called Sanctuary Hills northwest of Concord. We’ve been heading there for days now. Probably coulda been there sooner without our, um, Lexington troubles.” He avoided looking at Preston when mentioning this. 

Hob leaned casually against the wall, trying to figure out how to steer the group away from this fraught topic of conversation. Deacon spotted this feigned nonchalance immediately. “Hey Cait, I think we were in Goodneighbor at the same time as them. Do you remember this Hob person? Anything distinctive about him?” he asked, biting back a shit-eating grin.

“Not much,” she replied, shrugging. “He was a ghoul. That’s all I remember.”

“What’s a ghoul?” asked Soosan, bracing herself for the worst.

“You must not be from around here,” said Preston, eyeing Soosan’s blue vault suit. “Ghouls are…irradiated people. Most are just like you and me. They look pretty messed up and live for a long time, but they’re still just people. Unfortunately, sometimes they go feral and attack anyone who gets too close. That’s what happened to our group in Lexington.”

“Most ghouls are pre-war,” added Hob. “After the bombs dropped, the pervasive radiation permanently altered their physiology and made them effectively immortal. It would explain why this Hob person knew about Sanctuary Hills. He would have remembered it from before war.” She had to look away. Even through his sunglasses, Deacon’s skeptical stare was practically burning a hole through her head.

“Something’s coming. And it’s angry. Drawn by the chaos and the noise,” said Mama Murphy suddenly.

Preston made a sound of aggravation. “Dammit! Again? Soosan, were there chems in that bag?”

Soosan’s face went a little pale. “Yes. I found some chems in a raider stash. Why?”

Marcy rose and pulled out the empty Med-X syringe that was stuffed between the side of the couch and its cushion. “Mama Murphy, stop trying to sneak chems! You’re stoned out of your gourd. You better not be leading us on another wild goose chase.” She angrily threw the syringe at the wall. 

Sturges bent down in front of Mama Murphy and took her hand. “What’s coming? Did you see anything else?” Her head slumped a little as she struggled to keep her eyes open. “Shit,” swore Sturges. “Something’s up. It’s time to see if we can put our plan into action, Preston. Especially now that we got these folks here to help.”

“What can we do?” asked Soosan, trying to tear herself away from staring at Mama Murphy’s semi-conscious face.

“There’s a crashed vertibird on the roof – old school, pre-war,” said Sturges.

“Oh yeah, I saw it from the church bell tower. It may be the only extant vertibird that didn’t explode when it crashed,” said Deacon, snorting slightly. 

“Yeah, we’re real lucky. Its minigun is still attached, but we’re not strong enough to disconnect it from the bird. There is a way around that though. It looks like one of its passengers left behind a full suit of cherry, T-45 power armor – military issue. It’s got a West Tek internalized servo-system. Inside that baby, super is the new normal. Get the suit, and you can rip the minigun right off the vertibird. Do that, and whatever’s coming will get an express ticket to hell, you dig?”

Soosan stood up and smiled. “Awesome. My husband Doug wore a T-51 suit during the Battle of Anchorage. Somehow even the sweetest guy around managed to kick some serious ass in that thing. Now it’s my turn,” she grinned. 

Preston and Sturges frowned at each other. “Did…did you just imply that your husband was alive before the bombs dropped?” asked Preston. He took a small step away, eyeing her carefully.

“Yes he was, as was I. Cait here just released me from Vault 111. I was cryogenically frozen before the war, but now I’m the only one left. If I get to wear the power armor, then I’ll tell you guys all the juicy details. But later, okay? Right now I feel like smashing something’s head open, you dig?” she said, mimicking Sturges’s Atom Cats phrase.

“There’s one hitch,” he said, shaking his head. “The suit’s out of juice. Probably been dry for a hundred years. It can be powered up again, but we need a fusion core. There’s one in the basement, locked behind a security gate. Bypassing security ain’t exactly my forte, so we can’t get to the damn thing.”

“Lucky for you, I already know the value of an F.C.” Soosan pulled it out of Hob’s pack. “Voila!”

“Well all right,” said Preston. “Maybe our luck’s finally turning around. Once you jack the core into the power armor and grab the minigun, jump off the ledge to the front of the museum. I’ll be up here on the balcony with Deacon. Sturges and Cait, you head down to the ground floor and guard the doors. Take that bat with you. The dog will stay here and guard Marcy, Jun, and Mama Murphy. Whatever’s coming is going to regret it.”


	38. Concentric Circles

Deacon extended the crook of his arm toward Soosan. “M’lady. Your vertibird awaits.” She rolled her eyes and pushed past him, walking to the end of the hallway. She didn’t even notice another wrecked vertibird hanging over the museum atrium. Deacon turned and followed her. “I’m guessing you’re going to need a hand getting into that power armor.”

Soosan opened the door to the roof and marched up to the power armor. She roughly shoved the fusion core into its receptacle and turned the torso handle. The component parts separated and opened outward. She stepped inside and adjusted her position as the limbs and torso closed back up again. Soosan turned and looked at Deacon, “You were saying something about needing help?”

Not much rendered Deacon speechless, but Soosan’s fluid movements floored him. 

“That’s what I thought,” she said, her voice filtered through the T-45 helmet. She thudded forward to the vertibird’s minigun, yanked it off its stand, and slowly walked to the edge of the roof. She spotted movement on the roof of the general goods store. “We got raiders!” she shouted over her shoulder at Deacon in the split second before the minigun whirred to life. “Keep everyone else out of my line of fire!”

He shook his head rapidly, bringing himself back to the present. He ran inside and then out to the balcony. “Stay out of Soosan’s bullet spray!” he shouted down to Sturges and Hob, who were watching for signs of life down the street. Moments later they felt the vibrating thud as Soosan jumped down from the roof, landing hard on one of her knees. 

“Cait, follow me.”

Hob skittered behind Soosan, protected by her enormous silhouette. “What should I do? Should I go back and get your bat?”

“No. If anyone comes too close, I won’t be able to turn fast enough to hit them. That’s where you come in. Make use of that laser rifle. Protect my ass from the close quarters stuff.”

Hob swallowed nervously. “Got it. Hopefully Preston and Deacon will snipe what I don’t see.”

Three raiders popped out of the old Concord Speakeasy. In seconds Soosan had shredded through their bodies and they slumped over in the doorway. A loud crack rang out in the air. Hob whipped her head around and saw a fourth raider dead in the street directly behind her, still clutching a switchblade. She peered up at the balcony and saw Deacon grinning broadly, giving her an exaggerated thumbs-up. She smiled weakly and trotted after Soosan.

“I hear you in there!” said Soosan’s electronic voice. “Come on out! I just want to talk.”

“What do you hear?” asked Hob, looking around wildly. 

“That tapping sound. It’s like someone’s knocking on a metal trash can lid. You don’t hear that? That’s so weird. You always hear everything before I do.”

Hob paused. She noticed a muddy brown puddle filling a wide pothole down the street. A series of concentric circles appeared in the water. She watched for a few seconds. The circles got bigger. “Uh, Soosan? We got a problem.”

A metal utility cover rotated and flew twenty feet in the air. “Fuck,” said Soosan, who froze for half a second staring at the deathclaw. She tried to engage the minigun, but the beast swiftly grabbed her and heaved her into the air, roaring deeply. It threw her against the nearest wall like she was an empty Nuka Cola bottle.

“Soosan!” shouted Hob. The deathclaw turned its reptilian gaze her way. “Shit!” She sprinted back toward the Museum of Freedom. “What do we do?” she panted, looking rapidly between the men on the balcony and the monster pounding after her.

“Distract the deathclaw somehow! Get up to that second floor over there and make it focus on you. Preston and I will target its underbelly!”

Sturges threw Hob Soosan’s bat, which had been resting against a column of the entryway, before hastily scrambling inside the museum. Hob whistled sharply at the deathclaw, “Yoo hoo! Over here you great dumb brute.” She ran into the general goods store and clambered up to the second floor. She poked the bat through what used to be a window and scraped it along the wooden siding, making high-pitched noises. The deathclaw snarled and grasped at her with one of its razor sharp talons. Hob withdrew the bat and hopped over to the next window to antagonize the deathclaw.

Meanwhile, Deacon and Preston fired repeatedly at the creature’s left flank, causing it to growl in pain and tilt its head in their direction. In two large steps it was right next to the balcony, stretching its neck up menacingly and thrashing its giant horns against the metal railing. “Cait, it’s not working! We can’t aim at its belly,” shouted Preston urgently, taking a step back to avoid being gored. “Do something else!”

Hob tore down to the street and lifted the bat, bringing it down hard on the deathclaw’s right foot. It snapped its jaws shut from the painful distraction. She turned to flee but it caught her in its massive hand, hoisting her high into the air. Hob stopped breathing. Defeat flooded her limp body. This was the end. She rotated her head slowly, locking eyes with Deacon’s mirrored sunglasses. Hob smiled, knowing that after she was gone, he would take care of Soosan, despite their personality differences. 

A strange sensation grew in her stomach, as if gravity had enveloped it. Hob gazed down. The ground appeared to be traveling upward. She frowned in confusion. No. The ground was not moving up; she was moving down, and fast. She blinked rapidly. In the dim light she could make out a circle of seven faces peering at her.

“Cait? Are you okay?” asked Deacon. He saw her eyes flutter and come into focus, and he exhaled the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding in. He extended his hand. “Come on tato tot. I think you can get up.”

Hob gripped his hand tightly and shakily got to her feet. She winced at the sudden pain that bloomed in her head. The sharp stabbing preceded a dull throbbing. “Oh God. What happened? I thought…I thought I was done for. Did I hit my head?” 

“Your entire body slammed into the ground. It was a horrifying sight. But you’re lucky Soosan had that minigun. She saved your ass. Take a gander,” said Preston, pointing at the mangled deathclaw carcass lying in the road. One of its legs was barely attached by a couple exposed tendons, and its yellow reptilian eyes had rolled back in its head.

Hob swayed a little and Deacon gripped her arm to steady her. She turned to Soosan. “You saved me. That’s not, that’s not how this works,” she said, shaking her head but wincing immediately.

Soosan laughed. “Oh Caitie-girl. I got your back, babe. But you scared the shit out of us, so try not to do that again,” she said, smiling broadly. 

“Yeah, leave the heroics to me,” said Deacon sarcastically, though he was unable to keep the residual tremble out of his voice.

“Can we move this party out of the street?” snapped Marcy. “We need to finish searching for supplies in the museum. Besides, who knows what else is out there.”

“She’s right,” said Sturges. “It’s already getting dark. Let’s just spend another night here. Sanctuary can wait til first light.”

The group returned inside. Sturges and Soosan stopped at the suit of power armor, inspecting the damage done to its limbs. He pointed to various joints, muttering about the circuitry he’d need in order to repair them. Preston helped Mama Murphy sit on a bench next to the old museum ticket window. Marcy pulled Jun in the direction of the side rooms, saying something about being cold and wanting to strip the mannequins of clothing. Deacon pulled a bobby pin out of his pocket and started fiddling with the wrought iron gate in the center of the room. It swung open with a creak and he motioned for Hob to follow him. “Time to do a little scavving,” he said loudly, so the others could hear.

“I don’t know where my pack is,” said Hob, looking around.

“Relax, I got it. I put it downstairs next to some of those goodies we should grab.”

They headed around the gaping hole in the floor and down the stairs to the red toolbox that had distracted Soosan earlier. Hob sat down on the ground, crossing her legs. She flipped open the lid and idly sifted through the box’s contents. Deacon sat down next to her and lowered his voice. “Hey, they won’t be able to hear us down here,” he said, studying Hob’s face. “It’s time for you to tell me what the hell is going on.” 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean the last time I saw you in Goodneighbor, you were sprinting out of the Memory Den and a courser forcibly dragged you away. You disappeared inside the Mass Fusion building. I assumed you had been,” he paused to clear his throat, “I thought you had been killed. And then you ‘randomly’ show up in Concord sporting a new appearance and accompanying a recently released resident of Vault 111? That’s not a coincidence. What does The Institute want with Soosan? It’s gotta be something major to warrant all this deviation from their standard protocols.”

Hob blanched. “Deacon, I told you days ago in the Memory Den that you would certainly be in danger if you learned what I knew. I have to protect her, but I can’t let any harm come to you either because of me. It goes against my programming.”

“But why Soosan? What’s so special about a frozen pre-war person? Are they going to do experiments on her or something? Are they going to kidnap her? Is that why you’re with her, to learn her mannerisms and memories so you can replace her?”

“What? No. God no. Nothing like that. I can’t tell you anything specific, but let’s just say once she thawed out and started telling me details about her life, I realized I was sent to that vault under an incorrect set of assumptions. I don’t know how or why The Institute’s intel was so wrong. Regardless, at some point they’re going to have to alter the intended plans.”

“Plans?”

“Argh, I can’t say anything!” she exclaimed a bit too loudly, feeling impatient.

“Shhh. Fine, you can’t verbalize anything. How would The Institute know what dirty details you’re spilling, anyhow?” Deacon raised an eyebrow over his sunglasses.

Hob looked around cautiously. She made flapping bird wing motions with her hands and pointed up to the ceiling. “Understand?”

“Oh my giddy aunt. Tom was right? Shit! I’ve got to stop underestimating that guy. Fucking crows.”

“You already knew about those? Really?”

“Well now I know for sure. Thanks for confirming that little detail.” He nudged her with his shoulder. 

“Hmmph. I’m glad to see you still know everything, sweet cheeks,” she replied, her anger melting away at the physical contact from Deacon. 

He winked at her, “Glad to see you still have a sense of humor, daddy-o. By the way, who had to die for you to wear this stunning physique?” Deacon’s eyes traveled up and down her body. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s quite attractive, but I don’t know if cherry locks and pert breasts are worth dying for.” 

“No one died!” she said proudly, oblivious to Deacon’s lewd observations. “I made such a big fuss about where the vestures came from that one of the scientists made a synthetic suit for me. No human was harmed for the benefit of a synth. The real Cait is still there unfortunately, probably bored out her mind waiting for me to return. But everyone promised that when I’m done here they’ll send her home, safe and sound.”

“There’s a human Cait being held prisoner, and you’re taking these scientists at their word.” He rolled his eyes and put his head in his hands. He didn’t understand how Hob could be so sharp and so naïve at the same time.

“Yes. What’s wrong? Do you think they’re lying to me?”

Deacon took off his sunglasses. “Actions speak louder than words, doll. Have you ever encountered any problematic evidence of how The Institute actually does things versus how they say they’ll do things?”

Hob thought about Virgil’s complaints about the cruelty of the FEV program, and the shock she felt when he described the life of Mister Kim, the ghoul vesture ‘donor’. She looked at Deacon, “Um, possibly. Maybe. But they did take concrete steps to address my concerns and make a synthetic vesture. That’s a positive action, right?”

He shook his head. “If you say so, muffin. Based on everything I know about The Institute, I find it suspicious that they would happily take constructive criticism from a synth. Is there anything special about you that would explain this?”

“Yes,” she said slowly. “I’m, um, a newer model I guess? I have a standard synth designation, but they let me name myself. Maybe because I’m more advanced than the others?”

Deacon furrowed his brow. He’d never heard of synths having human names before escaping and blending into the Commonwealth populace. He reflected for a bit, surmising that this might be a new psychological tactic of The Institute. “Yeah, I bet that’s it. You’re not just another cog in the machine, especially if they assigned you to shadow Soosan for such an important mission. What is your name anyway?”

She smiled. “It’s Hob. I didn’t think of an alias before ending up in Goodneighbor. I panicked and my real name came out.”

“That’s a nice name. Short and sweet. Where did it come from?”

She shrugged. “I’m not sure. They asked me at the time and I couldn’t come up with a logical answer then either. It may be a sort of echo from when my programming finished installing, a repeating phrase or something that filtered up to my conscious brain.” 

“Ah,” said Deacon. He had successfully extracted more information than he expected out of Hob. His remaining questions could wait for another day. He put his sunglasses back on and stood up. He opened the doors of the nearby metal cabinet, groping around blindly for any salvageable goods. 

“Oh!” said Hob, surprised. Dogmeat had poked her arm with his wet nose. He dropped a roll of duct tape into her bag and licked her face. “Good boy! You’re so smart!”

“He’s the best boy!” said Soosan, standing on the steps behind them holding a bundle of items in her arms. “He led me straight to you. Look at this bounty!” she said, dumping the objects into Hob’s pack. “Sturges told me that hot plates and telephones are full of the circuitry he needs to repair the damaged power armor components.”

“Nice,” said Deacon appreciatively. “That guy is quite intelligent, an ace at fixing stuff. You will not regret having him around in Sanctuary.”

“Hmm,” grunted Soosan.

“Now what did I do?” he asked.

“No, sorry. It’s not you. It’s just, well, the reason I asked about Sanctuary earlier is because that’s my neighborhood. My home before the war. I’m not sure how I feel about all these new people barging into my inner sanctum. It seems…disrespectful, polluting?” She made a pained face. “Yikes. Sorry. ‘Polluting’ was a bit over the top. I’m not used to so many new people in my business all at once.”

Hob and Deacon exchanged a glance. “I mean, every place you can go in the Commonwealth used to be where people lived and worked and played,” said Hob rationally. “If we couldn’t inhabit those places, there’d be nowhere left to go. You’ve already met everyone in this group. You’ve heard the tragic tale of why they’re here. After their many brushes with danger – and to top it all off, a deathclaw! – I think they deserve a safe home, right?” 

Soosan sighed, “You’re right. Of course you’re right, Caitie. I guess I was being selfish.”

Hob added, “Think about Codsworth. He might explode with happiness at the thought of having so many new people to fuss after. He could spend all his time trying to prevent Mama Murphy from getting her hands on any chems.” 

Soosan let out one loud laugh. “Ha! That’ll be quite the sight. Boy, everything you say reminds me so much of my Dougie. But I will have to draw the line at my house. That’s sacrosanct. Anywhere else in Sanctuary Hills would be a nice place for them to live. Maybe if Marcy and Jun had a house of their own she wouldn’t be grumpy anymore. Well, less grumpy I suppose.”

Deacon chuckled, “Maybe. I wouldn’t get your hopes up though. I’m glad you’ve come around, Soosan. I wouldn’t want you thinking everyone you meet might be an asshole like me.” He shoved her arm playfully.

“Can you imagine?” laughed Soosan. “Well, time to head over to that side of the building and scavenge some more. I think I spotted some desk fans. Caitie, that pack looks like it’s about to burst, so I’ll try to find a crate or something for the new junk. Also, I grabbed some Fancy Lads from that old fridge upstairs. Here,” she tossed the box at Deacon. “I’ll share one of my favorite snacks with you. Think of it as an olive branch.”

“Thanks Soosie,” he mumbled, stuffing a snack cake into his mouth and getting powdered sugar all over his lips.


	39. Upstream and Downstream

The group stood in the orange glow of the sunrise in front of the Museum of Freedom. 

Soosan shifted in the T-45 power armor, holding a massive crate full of bits and bobs. Her bat was perched carefully on top. “Now remember, let Cait and me cross the bridge first. I will remove this helmet beforehand so Codsworth doesn’t unknowingly attack me. We will explain the situation to him and hopefully he’ll understand. He’s been losing his marbles for two centuries so I’m not entirely sure how he’ll react to a neighborhood of new people. But I’m fairly certain his Mister Handy programming will be quite excited.”

“Got it. Now let’s move out. I’ll take point. And don’t forget the price we paid to get this close. Sanctuary awaits,” said Preston authoritatively. 

“We’re right behind you,” said Sturges, pulling out his pipe pistol and inspecting the ruined buildings lining the street as he walked. “Can’t say I’m gonna miss this place.”

“Come on Jun, it’s time to go,” said Marcy sharply.

“Oh, okay,” he replied, tearing his eyes away from a raider corpse. He turned and immediately tripped on a deep crack in the road. “Where are we going again?”

“Don’t worry. Just stay with me. It’ll be fine,” she replied, softening her tone.

The group walked in silence for a bit. The only sound was the hydraulic marching of Soosan’s power armor and Marcy’s grunts from lugging the heavy minigun. From behind his sunglasses, Deacon silently counted the crows lining the wires of old telephone poles on their route. Dogmeat ran on ahead, smelling the same corners he had inspected when they entered Concord a day ago.

As they came up the hill towards the Brahmin carcass, Hob remembered what Alan Binet had said about the medicinal uses of hubflowers. She jogged over and plucked the flowers off of two wide bushes. Soosan followed her. “Whatcha doing Cait?” she asked in her robotic-sounding voice.

Hob held out the blue flower, which had a purple iridescent sheen in the early morning light. “This is called a hubflower. They’re used to synthesize all sorts of helpful chems. But don’t try to eat them before they’ve been processed. Your mouth will taste bitter for a week,” she said, recalling the story of how Isaac Karlin had dared Liam Binet to eat one.

The sounds of laser fire suddenly reverberated through the air. Hob and Soosan turned around. “Ladies, I know it’s early, but try to pay a little more attention to your surroundings,” said Preston sternly. “We don’t need anyone getting sick from a bloodbug infection, okay?”

“Yes sir. Sorry Preston,” said Soosan, bending down to inspect the dead bloodbugs and gagging a little. “Those might be even more disgusting than bloatflies.”

“I’d have to agree with you,” he replied, wrinkling his nose. “I hate those things.”

Hob struggled to zip up her pack without crushing the delicate hubflower petals. A shadow appeared on the ground beside her. “Why don’t you put one behind your ear, beautiful? That’s my go-to flower holding spot of choice,” said Deacon, plucking a hubflower and handing it to her.

Hob made an annoyed sound but she couldn’t keep the delight out of her eyes. She took the flower and continued jiggling her bag, trying to get the bottom contents to settle enough to zip it up. Deacon hung back, bending over the pack with contrived interest. “I counted no fewer than seventeen crows between the museum and here,” he whispered, barely moving his lips. “That’s some serious spy power for only one woman. What is it about her? Are her tits made of gold? Does she shit fusion cores? Tell me.”

Hob stood up, slinging her bag over her shoulders. “No, sto- asking. I -ean it Deacon,” she warned through a strained smile, trying to keep her lips from touching. Of course, this made the letters P and M impossible. 

He smirked, “Sure thing, princess.”

They continued to bring up the rear until they rejoined the group in what used to be the parking lot of the Red Rocket.

“Well look at that,” said Sturges, whistling appreciatively. “I think I just found my new vacation home.”

“Your idea of heaven, eh Sturges?” said Preston. “Could be some good salvage in there. A lot of oil and rubber, for sure. Let’s get to Sanctuary first, though. I think we’re close.”

“Yes we are!” exclaimed Soosan. No one in the group had ever seen someone in power armor jump up and down excitedly. Tremors shot through the ground. Dogmeat let out a few warning barks. “Oh I’m sorry pal, it’s just me. I didn’t mean to scare you,” she said, petting his head. He started growling and then barked even louder.

“Dammit,” said Deacon, readying his rifle. “The mutt knows something!”

Two seconds later, mole rats burst forth from the ground. Marcy stepped forward and bashed in the head of the nearest one with the minigun. Mama Murphy joined her, punching the creature with her bare fist. Deacon shot two mole rats that had cornered Sturges in the Red Rocket garage. Hob took a few steps back, trying to avoid Deacon’s flailing elbows. She tripped over Dogmeat and fell on a mole rat that had just popped up behind her. The enormous pack instantly broke its neck. The group heard the deep whomp-whomp of Preston’s laser musket as he shot the final mole rat. 

“Is that it?” asked Hob, struggling to her feet. “Are they gone?”

“I think so,” said Sturges, panting slightly. “Whew, maybe my little slice of heaven needs a couple turrets. Anyone have a spare biometric scanner in their pocket?” he said, chuckling a little at his joke.

“Come on everyone. Not far now,” said Preston, rallying the group. He walked ahead before stopping at the large statue positioned by the bridge to Sanctuary. “Well I’ll be damned. It’s the monument to the original Minutemen.”

“Indeed it is,” said Soosan proudly. She gestured to the northwest, “And this is the restored Old North Bridge, where the first shots of the American Revolution were fired.”

“Hmmm. Old North Bridge, Old North Church. I like the symmetry,” thought Deacon.

They came to a stop before crossing the bridge. Instead of the plan for Hob and Soosan to meet Codsworth before introducing the group, he beat them to it. He was hovering in the middle of the bridge, eyeing the power armor warily. “Miss Cait, I see you’ve returned. Where’s mum?”

With some effort Soosan put down the crate and removed her helmet. “Ta da! Hey Codsy did ya miss me?”

“Oh goodness Miss Soosan! How clever you are. For a moment I had thought perhaps you found sir somewhere and he was in that silly armor of his.” 

She cleared her throat, “Remember Codsworth, Doug is dead. We talked about this.” 

“Of course, I know. Still, a robot can dream, can’t he?” Codsworth floated closer, inspecting the members of the haggard little group. “And who have we here? New friends perhaps?”

“You’re absolutely right. This is Preston and Sturges, Marcy and Jun, and Mama Murphy. That’s Deacon, and of course you remember Caitie-girl. We’ve decided that they’re all gonna live here in Sanctuary Hills.”

“I see,” he said quietly. 

“And that’s non-negotiable Codsy, got it? They’ve been through absolute hell getting here, and they deserve a safe, peaceful place to live.”

“Of course, please excuse my manners. Do come this way,” he said graciously, gesturing with his pincered limb. “I shall give you all a little tour of your new neighborhood.” They followed slowly, though Jun didn’t appear to be listening. Preston and Sturges frowned at each other, but said nothing. Mama Murphy promptly wandered off behind one of the destroyed houses. Dogmeat paused before chasing after her. 

“Do I spy with my little eye…toilet facilities?” asked Deacon, narrowing his eyes in the direction of the outhouse Hob and Codsworth had erected.

“Yes,” replied Hob. “Though I have to warn you – it’s pretty basic. Now that Sturges is here maybe we can ramp up the luxury level of Sanctuary’s amenities.”

“Definitely,” added Soosan. “Personally, the next priority is figuring out how to wash our clothes in non-poopy water. I’ve wearing this vault suit for two centuries, and boy can you tell. My armpits are as ripe as an avocado in the California sun.” Hob wondered what an avocado was. 

Deacon laughed at Soosan’s candor. “I’m going to scope out the perimeter of this place. I’m sure you two need a chance for some girl time. Gotta catch up on all the hot gossip, maybe talk about my cute butt,” he said, turning and wiggling his behind as he walked off.

“Oh my gosh, Deacon, honestly,” said Soosan. “What are you, twelve?”

“Yep, on a scale of one to ten, baby!” he shouted. 

Soosan waited for him to be out of earshot before bursting into laughter. She shoved Hob’s shoulder. “So what’s up with that guy? Did something happen between you two in that Goodneighbor place? He flirts with you nonstop. From afar you guys seem like boyfriend and girlfriend.”

Hob blinked, frowning. “Huh? Flirts with me? When?”

Soosan raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Okay, play coy. That’s fine. But in the meantime, you should help me get out of this damn power armor. I feel like a Thanksgiving turkey roasting in the oven.”

“Uh, sure,” said Hob, adding this to her constantly growing list of unexplained pre-war references. 

They headed towards Soosan’s house, stopping to drop off Hob’s pack and the crate of objects next to the enormous junk pile in front of the Rosa house. “I’m still not gonna go inside. But I will take off this bad boy under my car port. See Cait, I’m getting closer.”

“Take all the time you need,” replied Hob. She held the small of Soosan’s back as she stumbled backward out of the power armor. “In fact, I seem to recall that Marcy and Jun lost their son during the events in Quincy. I’m sure they’d understand how you’re feeling more than anyone. Maybe you could talk to them at some point?”

“Yeah, um, maybe,” said Soosan. She had been staring into her house through the side door. For a moment her resolve swelled enough to take one step towards the kitchen, but she halted. Soosan turned back to Hob, desperate for a different topic. “So, now that this neighborhood is full of wasteland weirdos – and I do say that with love – how should we proceed? This may come as a shock but I’ve never built a settlement before.”

“Well then you’re in good company because I haven’t either. But I bet I know one guy who does.”

They headed out to the street. Codsworth was hovering in front of a broken down mailbox, giving Preston and Sturges a lecture on the importance of the U.S. mail system. Preston stifled a yawn, neatly turning it into a polite smile. Marcy and Jun had already found an excuse to slip away.

“Oh God, we have to rescue them. Once Codsy starts it’s really hard to stop him. Hey Codsworth!” shouted Soosan, “Give those poor guys a break! Actually, all of you come here. We have to do a bit of suburban planning.”

“Right away mum!”

“There’s still a lot of daylight left. How should we best make use of our time? What’s the top priority for you guys?” asked Hob.

“I’d say beds are number one, followed by clean drinking water at number two. The rest can wait til tomorrow,” answered Sturges.

“Based on our brief tour of the neighborhood, a lot of these old houses look solid enough. Most need to be patched up, but any of them would make a nice temporary shelter,” added Preston.

“Definitely not my house, this turquoise one behind us. How about the junk pile house, at least for now?” said Soosan. “We could drag some mattresses and couches in there for you guys. It can get kind of cold at night so everyone should be warmer by sleeping near each other.”

“I remember seeing a bunch of clean mattresses inside the vault,” offered Hob. “Maybe we could figure out a way to go get some of those?”

“No,” said Soosan firmly. “No one else should go in there just yet. I’m not ready to see Dougie. Once we’ve, um, laid him to rest then we can start pillaging the vault for supplies. I need a bit more time though.”

“Understood, ma’am. No hard feelings from us. I’m sure laying out a bed roll on a couch will be plenty comfortable. Having a place to sleep will improve everyone’s spirits,” said Preston. “I’ll head into that other turquoise house and start moving furniture. Maybe if I’m extra nice I can get Marcy to help me carry some couches.” He strode off looking for her.

“Okay, one problem solved,” said Soosan. “Next issue – water.”

“Very important for quenching thirst,” said Deacon, appearing suddenly behind them.

“God almighty Deacon!” said Hob, clutching her chest in fright. “You’ve got to stop doing that! You’re like a damn ghost,” she said, smacking his bicep harder than necessary. 

Sturges ignored the interruption. “Codsworth, I snuck a glance at your junk pile. Looks like you did a nice job sorting it. Based on these materials, I think we can build a couple water pumps today. For these to work, we need to dig down far enough to reach the ground water. I don’t want to get too close to the river, but we can start digging over there near the upstream side. Later on, we can place bathing and laundry facilities a bit downstream, and you’ve already got the toilet far downstream. So everyone, grab a shovel. We’ll also need a pickaxe if possible, as well as a couple buckets and some rope. Codsworth, you can help with that robot strength of yours.”

Codsworth’s eyes swiveled toward Soosan, looking for approval. She raised an eyebrow at him, “Hey now Codsy, while we’re doing these improvements, Sturges is the big boss man. Not me. Okay?”

“Of course mum.”

After a few hours, the group had managed to dig two wells that were a little over five feet deep. Hob stood at the bottom of one, Soosan at the bottom of the other. Deacon dug in his heels and helped pull Hob out, gripping her waist to make sure she didn’t fall back in the hole. Sturges easily pulled Soosan up with just one arm. 

“These rocks we extracted might be useful,” said Sturges, searching through the bucket full of jagged river rock. “I can always figure out a way to make concrete from scratch, but it looks like some of these ruined houses have plenty for now. We need enough concrete to make an adequate seal to prevent contamination of the water at the bottom of the wells. I’ll also need at least eighteen feet of hollow steel pipe and some gears. Codsworth will help me with the welding. Oh, and if you find me some cloth I can fashion some internal filters too.” 

Hob and Codsworth returned to the junk pile, while Soosan and Deacon headed up the hill to the nearest ruined house. She poked through the rubble. “How did your little perimeter expedition go earlier, Deacon?”

“It was illuminating. To put it mildly, this place is enormous. All this nature really gets in the way. These trees block your sight lines and give enemies plenty of chances to hide while staging an attack. You’re going to want to clear some of them and turn them into lumber. Also, turrets are essential, as ASAP as possible. The Red Rocket across the way probably has enough gas left over in the pumps to get a few set up. Lastly, I’d emphasize foot patrols over guard towers, at least for the time being.”

“Oh yes, Cait and I have already set up our nightly patrol route,” she said, acting like these patrols were an established fact of life. 

“Well, don’t get too comfortable. After just one night someone could have learned your patterns. In a settlement this large, they could slip in and out before you know what hit you,” he said, carefully sliding a fishing rod out between a small gap in the ruined house. “Hey Sturges! I think this fishing rod might have some tasty gears for you.”

“Good call. Thanks Deacon,” said Sturges, taking the fishing rod from him and examining the reel closely. 

“Okay, we’ll mix up the patrols,” said Soosan, who wondered what threats there could be besides bloatflies.

“But long term, you’re going to want to build some sort of wall with turrets posted high enough that they can shoot enemies before they get too close. Avoid direct combat when you can. Obviously there’s an ass ton of trees here, so you’d have plenty of materials to make a high, reinforced wooden fence. Basically we should turn Sanctuary into a small medieval walled city.” 

“Ooh and if the Old North Bridge is the main entrance, maybe we can turn it into a drawbridge! Raise and lower it at will,” said Soosan, inspecting a mangled desk fan.

“I like the creativity,” he said appreciatively. 

Sturges and Hob walked past carrying two eight-foot lengths of pipe. “If you guys are ready we could use a hand,” he said. “Soosan and Deacon, can you hold this pipe in place while we get the concrete set? The trick for the concrete is we need to be able to remove it in the future for inevitable repairs.”

Codsworth’s saw blade whirred to life and he dug a deep square around the well opening. Sturges slid a wooden frame with a small hole in the middle down the pipe. Hob poured the concrete mixture into the frame, tamping it down with an old hoe. Sturges hammered wooden stakes into the ground and tied the pipe to them so it wouldn’t move while the concrete was drying. They repeated the process for the other pump.

“That looks acceptable,” said Codsworth, who had never set up a water pump before.

“I think so,” agreed Sturges. “It’s getting a bit dark now. I’ll build the handles and attach them to the faucets tonight, and tomorrow morning I’ll connect everything. Once we can reliably pump water then we can start figuring out how to bathe and wash clothes. I assume we’ll be setting up some crops right away?”

Soosan shrugged. “Yes?”

“First thing tomorrow let’s plan out the fields. If we place them close enough to the wells then I could hook up a rudimentary drip irrigation system for semi radiation-free plants.”

“And perhaps some flowers as well?” asked Codsworth, thinking of his prize geraniums. 

“Hubflowers are useful for medicinal purposes, as are carrot flowers and mutated ferns,” said Deacon sagely. “Maybe also some gourd blossoms. We could get some tarberries and bloodleaf going in this shallow part of the river. I happen to know we’re fairly close to Abernathy Farm. If we have anything to barter we could buy some tato seedlings.”

“Well look at you! Check out Mister Fancy Farmer Man over here,” said Soosan.

“Why, haven’t you heard, Soosan? Deacon knows everything,” said Hob, elbowing him lightly in the ribs. 

“Indeed I do,” replied Deacon, less sarcastically than Hob expected. “For example, I know that there’s some wild mutfruit behind that house over there, and I think I saw some growing between the Red Rocket and the river. Can you do something with that, Sturges?”

“Definitely. They’re not as sweet as domesticated mutfruit, but we can harvest the seeds and start propagating some plants tomorrow. I also saw some gourd and melon crops behind the junk house. Was that you Codsworth?”

“It was, Mister Sturges!” said Codsworth proudly. “I didn’t plant them, but once I saw them growing I thought it best to tend them anyway.”

“Nice job buddy. That was some real smart thinking over the years. You’re in charge of showing Marcy and Jun how to take care of those, what kinda weeds and pests to look out for, all that.” Sturges clapped, “All right everyone, good work today. I don’t know about you but I am plum tuckered out. Physical labor makes a man long for sleep like nothing else. Let’s grab some grub and hit the hay. Hopefully Preston’s got some beds or couches set up.”


	40. Mama Murphy's Vision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: description of a panic attack

The Rosa house was filled with two small mattresses on the bedroom floor, three couches of varying sizes in the living area, and one high-backed chair blocking the old kitchen. Preston and Marcy had also set up a dining table and chairs under the carport. 

“No one lift a finger! I shall prepare dinner and be out shortly,” said Codsworth eagerly as he floated into Soosan’s house, humming. He came back sooner than expected, setting down plates of Salisbury Steak and InstaMash on the table and placing utensils next to each setting. “Nuka Cola anyone? I have both regular and cherry flavors.”

“Hey, it’s a homecoming celebration of sorts. Cherry Nukas all around,” said Soosan graciously.

“I’m not hungry,” said Jun quietly.

“You need to eat something. You’re practically wasting away,” said Marcy. “I didn’t see you eat anything the whole time we were in Concord.”

“We’re counting on you to tend to the gourds and melons,” said Hob. “You can’t do that on an empty stomach.”

“Oh, okay,” replied Jun, taking a seat at the table and aimlessly pushing the mashed potatoes back and forth with his fork, clinking the utensil enough to make it seem like he was eating.

Preston cleared his throat and held his Nuka Cherry aloft. “I’d like to propose a toast. These past few weeks have been the most awful I’ve ever experienced. From Quincy to Lexington, we’ve lost a lot of good people. Not just friends but loved ones. Yet I have to acknowledge that we haven’t faced it alone. MacCready, Fahrenheit, Deacon, Cait, and of course Soosan have all helped us on our journey to find a permanent home. Sitting here with you all has reinforced the importance of not giving up. Turning Sanctuary Hills into a thriving settlement is going to take a lot of hard work and dedication, but I’m confident that it will be worth it. A special thank you to Mama Murphy for having the foresight to lead us here. I think we really will find our salvation in Sanctuary. Cheers everyone!”

The sound of clinking bottles filled the quiet evening air. There was amiable chatter as the group dug in to their meals. Hob ate nervously, trying to figure out when she should slip away to the toilet to empty her sustenance receptacle.

“Now that our stomachs are no longer growling,” began Soosan, “I would like to tell you more about me. I gave you the abridged version back in the Museum of Freedom, but since we’re here in my neighborhood I believe you deserve to know the specifics.”

Everyone fell silent, giving Soosan their full attention. Deacon was practically straining his ears to make sure he didn’t miss anything.

“The morning of October 23, 2077 started off like any other Saturday. My sister Nahid was a doctor. Since she had to cover someone’s shift at Mass Bay Medical Center, my husband Doug and I picked up her son Shayan for free babysitting duty. As you are aware the world was super shitty. Everything was clean and looked nice, but we were terrified of nuclear war. Every day this annoying Vault-Tec salesman knocked on our door, trying to encourage us to sign up for Vault 111, which is right up the hill. Because of Dougie’s military service we could get in the vault for free. Usually you had to be really rich or have political connections, but for this vault they made an exception for nearby military families. So I put us on the list just to stop the salesman from ringing the doorbell again and waking up the baby.” Soosan closed her eyes, bracing herself for what came next. 

“Are you okay?” asked Hob, worried.

Soosan opened her eyes and gave the group a shaky smile. “Yes. Here we go.” She took a deep breath and looked at the Mister Handy. “About an hour after the salesman came, Codsworth called us in to the living room for a special news bulletin. The newscaster described horrific nuclear attacks by China on major cities all around the U.S. – Los Angeles, San Diego, New York, Philadelphia, and Washington D.C. Honestly, I have no idea why China targeted Boston, but at least we weren’t hit first. Dougie picked up the baby and we bolted to the vault. I couldn’t tell you how long it took. Between hearing the news and running up the hill to the vault, it felt like I’d lived another lifetime. My neighbors were moving in slow motion. I know a vertibird hovered overhead and men in uniform were barking orders at me, but I didn’t really hear the sounds. Then the Vault-Tec employees led us to the platform. While we were waiting, bombs hit somewhere to the south.” She wiped away the tears automatically, not even realizing she had been crying.

The group scarcely breathed. Finally Preston asked timidly, “What…what did it look like?”

Soosan sniffled, wiping her nose on the sleeve of her vault suit. “It looked like all my nightmares about the apocalypse come to life. The sky had been blue with all these puffy white clouds, and one second later it turned this sickly yellow color. A gray and orange mushroom cloud rose high into the air and then this wall of dirt rushed towards us. Like a tsunami wave. The platform started moving down and the shockwave passed above us. I thought the wind was going to rip all my hair out of my head. And then somehow we were already deep underground. Vault scientists were standing around with clipboards, telling us what to do. My feet moved on their own. I heard Dougie asking me if I could hold the baby while he put on his vault suit, and then I handed him right back. I almost fell over trying to put my feet through the tiny pant legs. Someone told us to get in these pods for ‘decontamination’ before we headed further down into the vault. A voice said something and instead of a radiation spray or whatever I thought was going to happen, I started shivering. My eyelids felt so heavy, like I’d been drugged. Apparently they froze us for some sick fucking experiment.”

Sturges shuddered involuntarily. “I’ve come across a few vault dwellers over the years. They seemed naïve but mostly normal. I never knew Vault-Tec was involved in such sinister business.”

Hob interjected, “According to the Vault 111 overseer’s terminal, the experiment was only supposed to be short-term. But then the scientists revolted and left the vault, abandoning all the test subjects. No one was meant to be in cryostasis for two centuries. It’s a miracle you survived at all, Soosan.” She reached over the table and squeezed her hand sympathetically. Preston patted Soosan’s shoulder but said nothing.

“Oh just you wait. It gets better,” she said, nervously tugging at her thick eyebrows. Soosan plucked out several hairs but didn’t notice. “After being frozen, someone decided to thaw us out. And I’m not talking about Cait. Someone else. My husband was across the aisle from me, holding Shayan. Two people wearing hazmat suits opened the hatch of his pod and tried to snatch the baby. Dougie was grumbling and moaning, saying they couldn’t have him. They wrestled back and forth until a third person, this scary bald man, pulled out a gun and stepped up to my husband and – ” Soosan stopped. Her eyes bulged and she took large, winded breaths. She scooted her chair back and put her head in between her legs, struggling to regain control of her breathing. She wheezed loudly and fell forward off the chair onto the concrete.

“Soosan, hey Soosan! Stay with me,” said Preston, crouching down next to her and placing the back of his hand on her forehead. “She’s burning up.”

“Drowning,” she mumbled. “I must be drowning. This can’t be happening. Get this off me!” she begged, tugging at the collar of her vault suit. “Can’t breathe. Tight…throat. It’s so hot, please.”

Deacon rushed over and unzipped the vault suit. Her grubby white tank top was soaked with sweat. “Hey Soosan,” he snapped his fingers, “look over here. Look at my finger, right here. Tell me what my finger looks like.”

“Isss…longgg,” she slurred, “anddd dirrrt nailsss.” Her head flopped limply.

Deacon snapped loudly again. “Pay attention. Look at my finger and count out loud to five. Can you do that? Between each number take a slow, deep breath.”

“One…two…” Soosan gasped for breath, “um three…” She pulled her head up a little higher, “four…five.” She exhaled slowly, her head still feeling like someone was forcibly moving it in circles. The dizziness subsided and her eyes came into focus. She saw the entire group staring at her, worry etched on their faces. Soosan started to speak but a loud hiccup came out. She clasped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry guys.” She hiccupped again.

Preston and Deacon each gripped one of her arms, helping her back to her chair. Codsworth rushed over, offering her a purified water. Preston took it and held it to Soosan’s mouth, making sure she didn’t swallow too much. “I apologize Soosan. You told us in Concord that your husband was gone. I had no idea he had been, um, murdered,” he finished, saying the last word as quietly as he could. “Now I understand why you don’t want anyone in the vault.” 

Tears welled in her eyes. “It was so awful. Seeing my sweet husband get killed…it was like watching eternity get cut up into tiny slices. I was powerless to help. And then that fucker who did it came right up to me, stared at me like I wasn’t even a person, and called me the backup. Then they refroze me. Next thing I knew I was falling out of my pod and Cait was there. And I guess you basically know the rest. I can’t even go back in my house. I’m so pathetic,” said Soosan, putting her head in her hands. 

“You gotta stay strong. Like you’ve been,” said Mama Murphy in her dreamy voice. “There’s more to your destiny. I’ve seen it. You’re a woman out of time. Out of hope. But all’s not lost. I can feel…your sister’s energy. She’s alive.” 

Deacon and Hob gaped at Mama Murphy. Soosan jerked her head up, eyes wide. “Where is she? Oh my God, Mama Murphy are you serious? Nahid’s still alive somehow? Where could she be?” 

“Oh I wish I knew kid. I really do. But it’s not like I can see your sister. I can just…feel her life force, her energy. She’s out there. And even I don’t need The Sight to tell you where you should start looking. The great, green jewel of the Commonwealth. Diamond City. The biggest settlement around.” 

“Diamond City?” spluttered Soosan. “What the hell is Diamond City? Is Nahid there?” 

“Look, kid, I’m tired now. Maybe you bring me some chems later. The Sight will paint a clearer picture.”

Preston sighed, rubbing his forehead in exasperation. “Mama Murphy, how many times do we need to talk about this? Your body can’t handle more chems. You’re an addict, and if you keep pushing your limits then that junk is going to kill you.”

“Oh shush Preston,” said Mama Murphy, waving her hand dismissively. “We’re all gonna die eventually. We need The Sight, and our new friend needs it most of all.”

Soosan bit her lip. “I’m sorry Preston. I might have to take her up on this offer. Maybe not now, but at some point. I can’t dismiss any opportunities to find my sissy.” Preston scowled and bit the inside of his cheek. Soosan turned to Hob, “Caitie-girl will you come with me to this Diamond City place? I can’t do it alone. Once we make sure everything’s good here in Sanctuary I want to head out as soon as possible.”

“Of course I’ll help you. I’ll go wherever you want. But I don’t know how to get there, from here at least. Perhaps Deacon would be willing to accompany us?”

He sat down in his chair, leaning back slightly. “Absolutely. I need to return to Boston anyway.”

“Oh, you’re not planning on staying with us?” asked Sturges, sounding disappointed.

“Nah, I’m more of a city gal anyway. I need cultural amenities, Broadway shows, that sort of thing. It’s been ages since I set foot in the Boston Public Library. But I’m not going anywhere until we’ve checked out that vault. There’s something fishy going on here, and I want to know what we’re dealing with. You might not like it, but we need to check it out.”

Hob glared at him, but Soosan agreed. “You’re right. I’ve been fucking around long enough.” She stood up and turned towards her turquoise house. “Cait, hold my hand. No one follow us.”

Hob got up from her chair and took Soosan’s outstretched hand. “What’s the plan?”

“Not sure,” said Soosan, marching across the street. “I’ll figure it out as I go.” She tripped on a tire resting against the curb. “Oop, watch your step Caitie.” Soosan stopped in front of the old orange front door to her house, her fingers outstretched. She turned the handle and the door creaked inward. 

“Mum, may I suggest you wipe your shoes on the mat?” said Codsworth anxiously, hovering behind them. 

Soosan scuffed her feet on the welcome mat, “Of course Codsy. I know how hard you’ve worked on these floors.” She took one tentative step inside, then a few more to allow Hob to follow behind her. “So, um, here we are.” Soosan surveyed the inside, happy memories of married life overlapping with the decay her eyes were currently seeing. 

Hob hummed nervously. “Is, uh, is that the television that displayed news of the bombs?”

“Mmhmm,” said Soosan quietly. “And over here is our kitchen. But I didn’t really think of it like that. I sat on a bar stool and read the newspaper here every morning. Codsworth just happened to do all the cooking in my newspaper-reading area.”

“Indeed mum,” he said, guarding the front door from the settlers. “Happy to do it.”

They turned down the hallway, Soosan still gripping Hob’s hand tightly. She poked her head into the first room on the right. “Oh my. Well this used to be the laundry room/fusion furnace room. Now it’s a very impressive stockpile of food. Over here is the bathroom. When we bought this house it cost extra to upgrade from a shower to a bathtub. Dougie tried to get me to fork out more cash since I love soaking in the tub. It’s the ultimate luxury, like having a little swimming pool inside. But for some reason I dug my heels in on the cost.” She laughed, “That poor man. I can’t believe he put up with me.”

They continued down the hall to the nursery. “See, we had to have the whole crib set-up and everything. Shayan was basically always here, especially after I lost my job. I was like a full-time babysitter. Actually, Codsy was, but you know, I was here too. I couldn’t handle the constant crying, so I spent a lot of my time in the backyard, listening to music instead of taking care of the baby.” Soosan sniffed, tears filling her eyes again. “God what a crappy aunt I was. I routinely saw two members of the Shirdel family and I didn’t even appreciate it.” She turned to Hob and cried on her shoulder.

“Come on now, Soosan. You didn’t have to agree to babysit. You could’ve just left your sister to deal with yet another problem. But as with her terrible marriage, you got involved. You helped her.”

“Do you really think so?”

“I do. I’d be willing to bet that if we find her she’ll share that very sentiment. Think how elated she would be to realize you’re still alive. Reuniting you two means beating extraordinary odds but it is possible. I am as surprised as you that she has survived all these years. The only possible explanation is that she became a ghoul. You haven’t met any ghouls yet, but believe me their appearance can be frightening if you don’t know what to expect.”

Soosan stopped crying. “Oh gosh, of course. She must be a ghoul. Remember I told you that she’s a doctor. Maybe she injected herself with some chemical or experimental drug or something in order to survive after the bombs dropped. I bet if we started asking in Diamond City if anyone has seen a ghoul doctor we’ll get a lead or two.”

“Oh, um, well Diamond City is not ghoul-friendly. The mayor banned all ghoul residents and visitors five years ago. I mean, since the year 2282.”

Soosan swore, “What an absolute fucking shithead! That must be illegal. Oh wait, there is no such thing as ‘illegal’ anymore. Goddamn this future. I guess people will always find ways to be relentlessly cruel. Nothing has changed.”

Hob couldn’t help but snort. “That’s an understatement. Anyway, I don’t know if you remember the name of the place I met Deacon – it’s called Goodneighbor. It’s kind of like a rival settlement to Diamond City. The mayor of Goodneighbor is a ghoul himself. His name is Hancock. He’s kind of, uh.” She struggled to find the right adjective for him. “Colorful? Exuberant? Let’s just say you won’t be able to miss him. I guarantee Hancock knows more about the ghoul community than anyone you’d find in Diamond City. Maybe if you’re lucky he knows your sister, or at least knows someone who can point us in the right direction.”

Soosan pushed Hob’s shoulder. “Caitie-poo! Look at you! Coming in clutch again with the clever ideas. We should totally go to Goodneighbor first. Only, don’t tell anyone else. I think Deacon would be fine with going there instead of Diamond City, but I don’t want to piss off Mama Murphy in case she has any more spooky visions about Nahid.” 

Hob nodded. “Good idea. You know I’ll follow wherever you want to go.”

Soosan hugged her. “You are the best friend a formerly frozen vault dweller could have.” She looked down at the location of her feet. “Do you see this? Somehow I managed to enter Dougie’s and my old bedroom. I didn’t even notice. It felt like having a regular old post-apocalyptic conversation with you.” She turned around, inspecting the room. “Well, I guess it was too much to hope for all of my things to survive. At least the mattress is still intact.” She sat down on it, bouncing up and down a couple times. “Hey Caitie, will you stay with me here tonight? If I’m totally honest Mr. Hawthorne’s house was unsettling. I don’t know what he got up to in there but I never really got any sleep on his couch.”

“Of course. Let me go grab one of those coats or sweaters that Marcy pulled off of the museum mannequins. You’re shivering.”

“Oh,” said Soosan, inspecting the goosebumps on her arm. “I didn’t even notice. Don’t be gone too long.”

Hob nodded and left. In her absence, Soosan got up from her warm spot on the mattress. She opened the top drawer of her old dresser, gasping slightly. She was shocked to see how much of her clothing had survived the years. She pushed aside a lacy brassiere, giggling a little. That had been one of Douglas’s favorites. Her wedding ring clinked against a spherical bottle. Soosan pulled it out and inhaled deeply. Like every good Persian girl, she adored the smell of roses. She impulsively spritzed some perfume on her neck. The scent transported her back to her wedding day, and she choked back a sob.

After opening the next drawer, she saw that Doug’s shirts were still folded neatly. She picked up the blue dress shirt on top. A holotape fell out of the breast pocket. In tidy handwriting, her husband had labeled it: “For Soosan, When I’m Gone.” 

“Soosan?”

She instinctively dropped the holotape, breathing hard. “Cait? Jesus you scared me.”

“I’m back with a sweater for you. What’s that?”

For some reason, Soosan felt guilty. “I, uh, I’m not sure. I just found this holotape. It was in one of Dougie’s shirt pockets. He meant for me to listen to it when he was gone.” Her nose started running. “Do you think he was going to leave me? But why? We loved each other so much and our marriage was so strong. Why would he want to divorce me, Cait?” she babbled.

“Have you listened to it?”

“Well, no. I just discovered it. I can’t bear to hear him say such terrible things to me!”

Hob shushed her. “Calm down, Soosan. You’re getting all worked up again. Sit down on the bed next to me.” She patted the mattress, “Come on. Load the holotape in that fancy Pip-Boy of yours and we’ll listen to it together.” 

She sniffled, “Okay. But if it’s bad news then I’m holding you personally responsible.” Soosan put the holo in the player, bracing herself. 

A gentle voice spoke: “Hi honey! I don’t think I need to tell you how great a wife you are, but I’m going to anyway. You are kind, loving, strong, loyal, truthful, and side-splittingly funny. I’ll remember the incident with Penny’s dog forever. You’re also the bravest, most stubborn woman I’ve ever met, and that’s what I love about you. I’m glad you’re stubborn, Soosan, because it means you’ve got what it takes to survive on your own. Um, I, ah, just received a mandatory recall letter from the army. I have to report to Fort Hagen on Monday morning. Honey, I’m so sorry. The world is somehow even getting worse, so you already understand why I have to go. I don’t know where they’ll send me. Maybe back to Anchorage. Maybe somewhere farther. But if something bad happens to me, and I can’t shake the feeling that it will, I need you to know that I love you now and I love you forever.”

The holotape clicked off. “Goddamn him!” shouted Soosan. “That fucking pussy.”

Hob’s eyes grew wide with alarm. “What’s going on?”

Soosan wiped away her tears. “Dougie was always such a little bitch. I guarantee you he got that recall letter at least a week before the bombs dropped. Every day we had our morning coffee together. Every day we held hands and took a walk around the neighborhood while pushing Shayan in his stroller. Every day we had dinner and laughed while watching a re-run of I Love Lucy. We did these things every day and he never once summoned the courage to tell me he’d been called back from reserves.” She buried her face in her hands.

Hob shifted uncomfortably, patting Soosan on the back. “He loved you. He didn’t want to make you anxious for longer than was necessary. Douglas probably enjoyed the everyday activities so much he didn’t want to spoil them with this terrible news. It sounds strange but at least you were together when the bombs dropped. And when he died, you were right there with him. He wasn’t gasping for his last breath while defending American oil reserves. He died protecting his family. That doesn’t sound like being a, um, pussy,” she finished haltingly.

Soosan’s sobs turned to laughter. She tried to wipe the tears out of her eyes but they kept falling. “He was such a wonderful man. I can’t believe I ever doubted him.”

Hob squeezed her shoulder and rocked Soosan back and forth a little. “I believe it. Sounds like the irrational thought of someone who hasn’t gotten enough sleep the past few days.”

Soosan chuckled. “You’re always right, Caitie. I might have to find a way to steal your brain. What must it be like to see things so logically?” she mused.

Hob lay down on the bed. “Preston and Deacon told me they’d handle the patrols tonight. You don’t have to do anything. Your only job is to sleep. Put on that sweater and lie down next to me. After all that crying, I expect you’ll fall asleep the moment your head hits the pillow.”


	41. The Funeral

Dawn was a couple hours away. Hob stood in the bedroom doorway, watching Soosan sleep. She had just returned from a trip to the outhouse in order to empty her sustenance receptacle without Soosan hovering nearby. Hob turned to leave, nearly tripping over Dogmeat. “Hey buddy, I didn’t see you there. Don’t get up. Stay with Soosan, okay? Guard Soosan.”

He curled up on the floor next to the bed, putting his head on his enormous paws and looking up at her with his gentle brown eyes.

Hob walked through the house to the side door, carefully stepping around the power armor to get to the backyard. She saw a couple toppled patio chairs and a large metal table with an umbrella. She kicked aside a large branch and pulled the furniture upright, dragging it fairly close to the back of the house. Hob stared down at the ground, thinking hard. She walked across the street to the junk pile, searching for the shovel she had used to help dig the wells.

“Can I help ya find anything?” 

“Oh! Sturges! You scared me. Yes, I’m looking for one of the shovels.”

Sturges picked up the tool resting against the side of the Rosa house. “Here you go,” he said, wiping a dirty hand on his coveralls. “I woke up early to attach the water pump handles and faucets. I thought if Codsworth went another hour without clean water to wash last night’s dishes he might just explode. Any particular plans for that shovel?”

“Oh yes, I wanted to start digging Douglas’s grave.”

“I see,” he said quietly, grabbing the other shovel. “I’ll help. Let’s make sure we don’t dig too far down. The wells over there reached groundwater at about four and a half feet.”

The two worked in silence for a couple hours. The only sounds were grunting and the slicing of metal through dirt. The sky faded from indigo to pale blue. 

“Oop,” said Sturges, “We’ve got a bit of water. I guess five feet is deep enough. Let’s push a bit of this earth back in, just to be on the safe side.”

“In terms of logistics, how should we bring Douglas back here? Based on what I saw in the vault he’s a pretty large man. At least six feet tall. Plus I don’t think Soosan will want us to simply carry his body.”

“I’m not sure. That path up to the vault looks steep. I found an old wheelbarrow behind one of these houses, but that may not be too pretty for Soosan to watch. I think the best bet is to build a wooden casket and attach some rope to it. We’ve got a handful of strong people here. I noticed you weren’t exhausted at all after the digging yesterday, or heck, just now. You, me, Deacon, and Preston can be the pallbearers. How’s that sound?”

“That sounds good to me,” said Soosan, appearing behind them. She yawned and stretched, then gestured to the open grave. “I like this. Dougie and I spent a lot of summer evenings hanging out in the backyard, relaxing and listening to the stream. Maybe once we’re done we can repurpose some of this old picket fencing and outline his grave. I don’t want anybody stepping all over him.” 

“I can make that happen,” said Sturges kindly. “We can also take some of that river rock from yesterday and outline the mound as well. I had already loaded it into the wheelbarrow.”

“Very nice,” said Soosan. “Deacon was right about you. He said you’d be quite valuable here in Sanctuary. You’re already going above and beyond. After everyone’s had breakfast shall we set off?”

“That works,” said Hob. “Though based on our conversation last night I don’t think Marcy, Jun, and Mama Murphy are up for a visit to the vault. They can stay here with Dogmeat to guard them. Codsworth can come with us. He wants to see Doug.”

Soosan sniffed back some tears. “My sweet Codsy baby. Where is he anyway?”

“I think he’s already started preparing breakfast,” said Preston, coming up behind them and holding his laser musket. “I’m not used to being pampered by a robot butler, but I have to say, I think I can adapt pretty quickly,” he said, smiling.

Soosan laughed, “I’m so happy he’s taken to the group. I was kind of worried there. Before the bombs he guarded the house pretty jealously from any outside visitors, aside from Nahid and the baby of course. He has been acting differently now that I think about it.”

Hob swallowed, wondering how exactly Alan Binet altered Codsworth’s programming. “I think 210 years would have that effect on anyone, let alone a robot designed to serve people.”

“Exactly, poor fella. He’s pretty happy now that I got the water pumps hooked up. You all go on ahead with breakfast. I need to get going on the casket. There’s plenty of scrap wood around here so it shouldn’t take too long,” said Sturges, wiping sweat off his brow.

“I can help if you need,” offered Hob.

“Well thanks. I might take ya up on that.”

After breakfast, Soosan and Codsworth led the group in the direction of the vault. Hob, Deacon, Preston, and Sturges followed behind more slowly, awkwardly carrying the casket. As they walked, a thought occurred to Hob, “Um, Soosan? Remember our troubles getting out of the vault with the whole Pip-Boy remote link issue? How are we going to get around that?”

She turned and looked at Hob, walking backwards up the hill as she did. “That’s a good point Caitie-girl. I’m 90% sure that some of the skeletons in the vault also had Pip-Boys on. We can get everyone loaded up on the platform and then have one person engage the elevator.”

“Deacon, you’re pretty fast. Think you could run about 30 or 40 feet in a couple seconds?” asked Hob.

“I’m swift like the wind, darling,” he said, winking behind his sunglasses.

She smiled. “Perfect. You’re in charge of that. And then we’ll have an extra Pip-Boy for future scavving trips into the vault.”

The group stopped at the rusted chain link fence. They set down the casket while Codsworth sliced through the hinges of the old gate and pushed it aside. “I wouldn’t want anything blocking our path on the way back,” he said practically. They continued up the rocky trail, past the old construction equipment, and onto the cog-shaped platform. 

“Oh,” said Hob, eyeing the security trailer, “Deacon, I guess we’ll need you to do the whole smash-the-button thing up here too.” 

He jogged over to the Vault-Tec guard tower and hovered his palm above the square red button. “Are you guys ready?” he shouted. Hob gave him a thumbs-up. Deacon hit the button and turned to run as the buzzers began blaring, leaping down onto the platform. 

As the elevator descended, Codsworth piped up, “I must say I am a tad surprised this vault elevator is functioning. When Miss Nahid was here she used a wrench or some such tool to pull out the wires powering that button. She said she didn’t want any outside threats endangering the residents of Vault 111.”

The elevator squealed and jolted into place and the grate rolled upwards. No one spoke. Five heads turned toward Codsworth, a variety of emotions flashing across each face. He hovered in place and his eye stalks rotated towards them, the apertures of all three eyes expanding and contracting rapidly. “Is there a problem?”

Soosan was shaking. Her trembling hands started tugging on her curly hair. “Codsworth,” she said slowly, “Are you telling me that you saw Nahid? That she came here after the bombs dropped?”

“Yes mum.”

“And why didn’t you think to mention this little fact earlier?” she asked, her eyes widening to manic proportions.

“It wasn’t relevant earlier,” he answered simply.

Soosan pounded her fist on the metal wall, causing clanging reverberations to shoot up the elevator shaft. “Goddammit Codsworth P. Calvin! What the hell is wrong with you?” Everyone else exchanged glances but said nothing. Preston shuffled his feet while Sturges picked at the dirt underneath his nails.

“I don’t understand,” said Codsworth, nervously floating back a few inches.

“I mean last fucking night when Mama Murphy rocked me with the revelation that my sister is still alive, out there somewhere, most likely living as a fucking ghoul, you didn’t think it was important to reveal that you saw her after the bombs dropped? That Nahid was so concerned about her son that she traveled all the way here and destroyed the external vault door controls so her family would stay safe?”

“Well, she was not aware that you had made it to the safety of Vault 111. Miss Nahid visited your house first. I showed her where you and sir had fled to.”

“Agggghhhh Jesus Christ!” Soosan stomped out of the elevator and up the stairs to the metal walkway, shouting loudly. “Douglas why aren’t you here when I need you! Every time I think I can do this without you then some fresh fuckery happens and I have to face it alone!” Her voice faded as she continued to stomp deeper into the vault.

“Awkward silence or quality time?” asked Deacon, turning to Hob, “You be the judge.”

She frowned at him and looked back to the Mister Handy. “Um, Codsworth, I don’t think Soosan meant to get so harsh with you. I know you’ve been through a lot over the past 200 years. Do you understand why she was so upset, though? Nahid was her best friend.”

“Quite so,” he responded. “Indeed, based on Miss Nahid’s appearance I didn’t want to frighten mum.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh Miss Cait she looked dreadful. All her hair had fallen out and her skin was bright red, as if someone had peeled off her outer layer like an onion. Miss Nahid’s voice had changed too. Before it was as clear as a bell, higher than Miss Soosan’s. Somehow it turned hoarse, like when she had the flu for a week.”

“I see now. Nahid indeed became ghoulified,” said Hob sympathetically. “You were just trying to protect Soosan from being exposed to unpleasant information. Believe me, I understand the inclination. But she’s a lot stronger than we give her credit for. It may hurt but she can handle these things, okay? Soosan dreaded telling you that Douglas was dead, yet she did it anyway because she wanted you to know the truth.”

“Pardon me, I hate to be a bother, but this casket is getting pretty heavy. Cait, can you show us where to go?” asked Preston, rubbing his shoulder with his free hand.

“Oh gosh of course. Let’s head up the stairs and through that exit door on the right,” said Hob. “Deacon, that’s the vault door control panel. You’ll need to run from there to the elevator on our way out.”

He clicked his tongue. “You got it, chica.”

The group took the shorter path to the inner depths of the vault, awkwardly maneuvering the casket. Sturges kicked at several orange cones and Deacon forcefully bumped a rolling cart out of the way with his hip. As they deftly stepped down the stairs, they saw Soosan sitting on the floor, arms outstretched around Doug’s cryo-pod in as close to a hug as she could manage.

“Soosan?” said Preston softly, “Are you ready for us?”

She stood up, hastily wiping away tears. “Yes. But I can’t, um, bear to watch. I’m going to face the wall while you move him. I’ll be right here Dougie baby.” Soosan walked up the concrete steps that she sat on when Hob first released her from her pod. Codsworth silently hovered behind her, blocking her view just in case. 

Deacon looked at Hob questioningly. “What should we do, boss?”

She cleared her throat and positioned her hand over the red manual override handle. “Preston, Sturges, the moment the pod hatch opens, it’s very likely Douglas will, ah, fall forward a bit. You two need to hold his arms to steady him. Deacon and I will carefully help him into the casket. Understand?”

“And watch his head!” begged Soosan, giving orders to the rusty old consoles that she was facing. 

“We’ll make sure your husband is in good hands,” replied Deacon.

“Everyone ready?” asked Hob, not waiting for a response. She pushed the handle and the hatch raised up. A plume of ice crystals scattered in the air, creating a hazy mist for a few seconds. Doug’s immobile body tilted forward out of the pod. Preston and Sturges quickly grabbed him. They struggled to get a grip on his arms since they were frozen to his torso.

“Easy pal,” said Deacon quietly, positioning himself behind Soosan’s husband. 

“I’ve got his feet,” said Hob. “I’ll lift from here. Three, two, one.” She grunted slightly. The group took little shuffling steps until they could place Douglas in the casket as carefully as possible. 

“Soosan, should I close the pod hatch?” asked Preston, eyes widening upon seeing the viscera splattered on the inside.

“Yes, please,” she sniffled.

With some effort he pulled it down, fighting the hydraulic resistance. “One more question – should we put the lid on the casket or do you want to see him one last time?”

Soosan’s hands covered her eyes. She pulled her fingers apart slightly and turned around slowly, catching a glimpse of Doug’s feet. Soosan gasped and whipped back around, facing the wall. “No thank you. I will never be emotionally able to do that. I don’t want that image burned into my brain. Go ahead with the lid,” she said, unable to keep her voice from trembling.

“We understand ma’am,” said Preston. He and Deacon lifted the lid up and held it in place while Sturges fished in his pockets for nails. 

“This might get loud,” said Sturges, banging away. Strangely, the hammering sounds did not echo but were absorbed in the stillness of the vault. “There. All set. You can turn around now.”

Soosan did, and immediately regretted it. The sight of the casket caused her legs to turn to jelly. She collapsed on the stairs, sobbing. Hob rushed over to her, grabbing her hands. “Soosan, you’re so close. This is so close to being over. Can you stand? You can walk in front so you don’t have to look.”

“Okay,” whimpered Soosan, trying to breathe. “I think I can do that.” She got to her feet and gently placed brushed the casket with her fingertips as she moved into position. She rolled her shoulders back and stood up as straight as she could. “Thank you for helping me with this task you guys. I couldn’t have done it alone. Let’s go.”

The pallbearers nodded silently and followed Soosan to the vault entrance, struggling with the weight of Douglas’s casket. She entered the elevator first, squishing to the back to allow everyone to fit. 

Hob cleared her throat, “Deacon, we forgot to grab a Pip-Boy for you. I can go find one.”

“No, it’s fine,” said Soosan, unstrapping hers from her wrist. “Here, take this. The sooner we get out of here the better.”

“Cheers,” he said, clutching it and returning to the yellow walkway. Deacon fiddled with the remote link, pressed the button, and flew back to the elevator before the buzzers started sounding. The grate fell and the platform rumbled to life, ascending jerkily.

On the surface, the funeral procession slowly and silently made its way down the hill and into Sanctuary. Soosan walked as deliberately as she could manage, but they still arrived at her house sooner than she expected. With every step her feet felt more like lead. As they passed through the gate into the side yard, they saw Marcy, Jun, and Mama Murphy already gathered. 

“Come on Jun, give them space,” said Marcy, waving them back from the grave site.

“All right everyone, I think we’ve got it in position. Start letting the rope slip through your hands, nice and easy,” said Sturges. The casket touched the bottom of the grave with a heavy thunk. Sturges collected the rope and tossed it aside. 

Soosan took her place at Douglas’s feet. She cleared her throat and swayed slightly as she looked down. Hob wrapped an arm around Soosan’s shoulder and squeezed it. “Oh my Caitie-girl,” whispered Soosan, fighting back tears. She looked around at the motley crew surrounding her. “Thank you everyone for coming to Doug’s funeral. I’ve never had to deliver a eulogy before. And I’ve definitely never had to say goodbye to my husband before. Aside from Codsworth, none of you knew Dougie, and I’m sorry you never will. How should I describe Douglas Calvin? I love him with all my heart, but if that man were a spice he’d be flour.” She surprised herself by laughing. Deacon was the only one who joined her. “I guess I had enough spice for both us. Dougie had the patience of a saint and he could always talk me back from the edge. He was the smartest person I’ve ever met, unassuming, loyal, sensitive, and so brave. He managed to earn my parents’ approval the first time they met. My mom called him her cherished treasure. You all didn’t know my mother, but trust me that was Doug’s most impressive accomplishment. We’d only been married for a few years. I always thought I’d lose him in some stupid military conflict. I never once imagined this…hell we’ve found ourselves in. But, as Cait pointed out to me last night, I did get the gift of being with him when his soul was relieved of its physical bonds.” She paused, trying to remember the words that would come next. “Um, Codsworth, do you know if any of my Baha’i prayer books survived the bombs?”

He floated nearby. “I apologize mum. None that I’m aware of.”

She closed her eyes for a moment. “Okay, then I will do the best I can. I sort of remember one of the prayers from the funeral for my Armin Joon. He was my grandpa,” said Soosan, answering Deacon’s questioning frown. She glanced at everyone else. “Oh, are prayers, um, I mean – would this bother anyone?” The group murmured for her to proceed. “Thank you. Dougie I’m sorry, but this is the best I can do: ‘Douglas has abandoned the physical garment and ascended to the spiritual world. Oh God, I beseech thee to forgive his sins. Dispel his sorrows and change his darkness into light. Cleanse him with pure water and let him enter the garden of happiness.’ Allah-u-Abha,” finished Soosan.

“Amen,” said Preston. 

“Indeed,” mumbled Mama Murphy.

Sturges picked up a shovel. “If we’re all ready, Cait and I can start on this pile of dirt.”

Dogmeat appeared suddenly, holding a hubflower in his mouth. He dropped it onto Douglas’s casket and barked happily, licking Soosan’s hand. She patted his head and blubbered, “That was beautiful my good boy. The perfect touch. Sturges, I think we’re ready to finish. If you’ll excuse me, I think Dogmeat and I need to go for a walk.” Soosan inclined her head and walked away, patting the side of her leg for the dog to follow.


	42. Road's Pretty Long from Here

Everyone stood in silence for a moment, watching Soosan leave. Hob shoveled dirt onto Douglas’s casket while speaking to the group. “I have a feeling Soosan’s going to want to leave the neighborhood as soon as possible. Today, even.”

“What about planting crops? I thought she was going to help us,” asked Marcy angrily.

“Marcy, we don’t need her for that. The five of us and a robot can easily make that happen,” said Jun, more confidently than even he was expecting. Marcy was at a rare loss for words. 

“I can’t say that I blame Soosan,” added Preston. “We’ve all experienced tragedy, but hers is stranger than most. Now that we’ve laid her husband to rest she can begin working through her grief. The Commonwealth provides ample opportunities to do that, but also a lot of distractions.”

Sturges panted slightly from moving the heavy earth. “Cait, can you make sure she doesn’t just run off on us? I wanted to get her feedback on some of my plans for Sanctuary.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” said Hob, handing the shovel to Deacon. “Can you finish this? I need to go find her.”

“Oh sure, leave all the back-breaking labor to me. The prettiest girls always get picked on,” he grumbled.

Hob headed out to the street, but she didn’t see Soosan anywhere. A familiar panic rose within her, like when she couldn’t find Trashcan Carla in the ruins of C.I.T. “Calm down, she’s around here somewhere,” she told herself, steadying her breathing. She walked towards the tall elm in the center of the loop and looked around. Hob heard the squeaking sound of the water pump handle being used. “Soosan?” she asked.

“Caitie-girl? Is anyone else with you?”

“Just me. Sorry to disturb you,” replied Hob, peering around the old ruined house. 

Soosan had cupped a hand under the pump spout and was splashing her face with cold water. Dogmeat was lapping up water from the puddle that had formed. “That’s okay. Just you is okay. What’s on your mind?”

Hob dug a toe in the dirt. “Well, now that we’ve buried Douglas I thought you might be itching to get out of Sanctuary.”

Soosan chuckled a little. “Wow, you’re perceptive. Just like Dougie. You’re right, of course. We should set out for Goodneighbor as soon as possible.”

“I can’t talk you into spending the night here? Leaving first thing in the morning?”

Soosan shook her head. “Nah, no point in waiting. My sissy is out there somewhere. I have a feeling that once I find her, life in this weird wasteland will become a lot more bearable.”

“Okay. I understand. Sturges wanted to ask you some things, get your permission for some of the planned changes in the neighborhood. Also, you’ll probably need to talk to Codsworth and give him official orders to stay here with everyone.”

“Of course. Time to be large and in charge,” she said, cracking her knuckles. “Can you handle getting our supplies together? You always seem to know what to do.”

Hob laughed, amazed at the confidence she had instilled in Soosan. “Sure thing. And I’m fairly certain the guys have, um, finished the burial by now.”

“You go on ahead. I promise I’ll be right there.”

Hob returned to the street, running directly into Deacon. “Oh, eavesdropping were we?” she asked, taking a step back and pursing her lips.

He acted shocked. “Moi? Never. But it’s not my fault you chose to have a conversation when you didn’t know I was listening.” 

“I take it your gracious funeral façade has been put away and you’re back to your usual charming self?”

He grinned. “You got it, my dumpling. So, I hear we’re heading out today? And do my ears deceive me – we’re going to Goodneighbor instead of the great, green jewel of the Commonwealth?”

Hob lowered her voice, “Yes, but don’t spread that around. Soosan doesn’t want to piss off Mama Murphy in case she has another helpful vision.”

Deacon lowered his voice as well, “Between you and me, that old lady is full of shit. I don’t know how, but she makes my spidey senses tingle.”

“Deacon, if an old lady makes you tingle, that sounds like a personal problem. Why don’t you go be useful and start adding supplies to my pack? You may feel comfortable traveling around the wastes with nothing but a rifle and a wig, but the rest of us need things to survive.”

He mimed flipping long hair at her and marched off sassily. Hob sighed and waited a few seconds before continuing in the same direction. “Hey Preston!” she said, noticing him and jogging over. “Soosan does indeed want to leave today. Before we go can I show you something first? I don’t know if Codsworth would remember to mention it after we’ve left.”

Preston looked intrigued. “Of course. Lead the way.”

Hob took him to the back side of the Ables’ house and showed him the entrance to the root cellar. “This is pretty easy to overlook, so if you ever find yourself in the middle of a raid or attack of sorts, I think this cellar would be a safe place to hide, especially for someone vulnerable like Mama Murphy.”

He patted her on the back appreciatively. “This is a helpful find. Thank you, Cait.”

“Oh but wait, there’s more,” she said, lifting open the heavy metal hatch. “Can you follow me down here?” He set his musket down and carefully descended the ladder. Hob gestured to the room. “As you can see, this isn’t a perfect shelter but it would be good enough. A decent mattress, a radio, some shelves. There’s a safe over there. Soosan suspects that it’s full of, ah, ‘unsavory’ items, but we’re not sure because we never found the key. Maybe Sturges could devise a way to open it?”

“If a regular bobby pin doesn’t work I bet he can figure something out.”

“Here is the other thing I wanted to show you, and only you.” Hob pointed to a yellow wooden box. She pried the lid off and Preston gasped. “This is 2,000 caps. All the money we have. I’m planning to take a few hundred with us just in case, but the rest is secure down here. I feel so guilty for abandoning your group, especially after the hardship you faced coming here. Between this neighborhood and the Red Rocket across the bridge, it sounds like you’ll have plenty of scrap to work with. But I recall Deacon mentioning that Abernathy Farm was nearby. If you need caps to buy seeds or fresh produce, please don’t hesitate, okay?”

Preston blinked back a tear. “This is unbelievably generous Cait. I don’t know what to say.”

She gave him a hug. “I don’t want you to feel like you are the sole protector of the settlers. It’s okay to ask others for help. Humans need each other, after all.”

He sniffled a bit, laughing. “You know what, Cait? You’re a pretty upstanding woman. I might just have to declare you an honorary Minuteman.” Preston jovially punched her arm. 

She smiled. “Well that’s very nice. I’m not sure what that means but I’ll take it.”

Back above ground, Hob and Preston saw Soosan chatting quietly with Sturges. They were gesturing in the direction of the water pumps. “Whatever you think is best, Sturges,” she said. “It’s high time you guys get back to living instead of just surviving.”

“I appreciate that, Soosan. Next time you’re here I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised. All we need is time to get going on most of this stuff. Codsworth here will be a real asset in making that happen.”

“We’ll miss you around here, Soosan. You certainly have a vivacious presence,” said Preston, feeling heat bloom in his cheeks. “I hope the search for your sister is fruitful. I’d love to meet this Nahid.” 

“Well aren’t you a doll?” she said, smiling. “Thank you Preston. I don’t know how long we’ll be gone, but I have no doubt everyone’s efforts to beautify Sanctuary will be successful. As I told Sturges, just skip over my house. I’ll take care of fixing it up once I return. And feel free to utilize that power armor for construction or hauling junk out of the vault.” 

“Yes ma’am.”

“P-dog, not sure when I’ll be back either. But best of luck to your group,” said Deacon, squeezing Preston’s shoulder. “Once you guys get a radio up and running, you should be able to send out messages in case you need help. Oh that reminds me,” he tossed the Pip-Boy back to Soosan, “you’ll be needing this handy dandy bracelet back.”

She barely caught it. “Easy Deacon! I’m better at batting than catching. The one time I tried to play baseball as a kid I failed to catch the ball and it ended up breaking my nose. That’s why I have this little bump here,” said Soosan, rubbing the bridge of her nose. 

“My bad,” he laughed. “Women don’t always like balls flying at their face.”

“Whoa there, pretty boy. Save some of that wit for the road,” said Hob, tilting her head knowingly. “Speaking of which, shall we?”

***

It only took a couple hours to get south of Concord. Soosan had been regaling Hob and Deacon with tales of what the town had been like before the bombs dropped. 

“You know, I’m almost positive I visited the Museum of Freedom on a field trip in, hmm, maybe fourth grade?”

“What’s a ‘field trip’? What’s ‘fourth grade’?” asked Deacon, frowning while continuously scanning the road ahead for threats. Soosan opened her mouth to speak but he interrupted her. “’Wait, shh, we got someone up ahead.”

Hob squinted, then breathed a sigh of relief. She knew that particular pack Brahmin and its owner. “Deacon, that’s just Trashcan Carla.”

“People out here are actually called ‘Trashcan’?” asked Soosan, tutting. “Makes my fancy Persian name seem downright pedestrian.”

As they approached Hob waved, instantly deciding she would find a way to let Carla know her true identity. “So what’s your story?” asked Carla, inspecting them warily with her bloodshot eyes. “Looking to trade, rob me, or just ask directions to Diamond City?”

“Hey Ol’ Girl,” said Hob, patting each of the Brahmin’s heads. “Hi Carla. I’m not sure if you remember me. The last time we met was right down there at the Drumlin Diner. It felt like bloodbugs had chased me halfway across the Commonwealth before I intercepted you.”

She casually lit a cigarette. “I see. You’re looking different these days, Slim. A bit healthier than last I saw ya.”

“Oh, you two know each other? From the scavving trade I assume?” asked Deacon casually, looking up to the nearest telephone lines and counting the crows. 

“Yep,” replied Carla, blowing her cigarette smoke in his direction. “So, any interest in trading?”

“We’ve got some ammo to sell. Do you have any good armor pieces? Anything better than leather?” asked Deacon.

“Nah,” said Carla. “Just got one girded leather chest piece right now. Nothing else.”

“Better than no armor,” said Hob, carefully digging through the pack to the little pouch of ammo at the bottom, dumping some out in her hand and counting the correct amount. “Soosan here is fresh out the vault, if that wasn’t already obvious. She needs more protection than that flimsy vault suit.” She handed the ammo to Carla and helped Soosan adjust the chest piece so it fit snugly. “Actually, we’re coming from Sanctuary Hills, to the northwest of Concord. There’s a group of settlers trying to get a settlement off the ground. Would it be too out of your way to incorporate them into your trade route? They’ve already collected some supplies, but they have a few caps for trading as well. If you have any seeds or produce I’m certain they’d buy those.”

Carla sucked her teeth, thinking. She glanced casually at the crows on the telephone lines. “Sure Slim. I can do that for ya. Special favor from one scavver to another. Anything else?” 

“No I think we’re good. Thanks Carla. It was really nice seeing you again,” said Hob, stretching out her hand.

“You and your handshakes,” grumbled Carla, smiling nonetheless. She couldn’t resist petting Dogmeat on the head. “See ya, pup.” 

The group continued down the road and past the Drumlin Diner. Soosan squealed and clapped at the sight. “Yay! The Drumlin! Dougie and I came here all the time after our weekend motorcycle jaunts on Elvis. We’d always get two slices of cherry pie with vanilla ice cream, but he’d pretend to be too full so I could finish his dessert as well. Doug said I should just inject the sugar straight into my veins and cut out the middleman. But the middleman is the best part!” Her face suddenly looked crestfallen. “Oh God. I bet there’s no cherry pie anymore. If there’s no rice left, then there’s definitely no cherry pie,” she said morosely while pounding her foot like a toddler. 

Deacon hummed thoughtfully. “Since you know what it should taste like you can always get that robot of yours to work on a recipe. I bet you could make a razorgrain crust with a sort of mutfruit filling? Flavor it with a Nuka Cherry and Fancy Lads for an extra dose of sugar?”

Soosan slapped her stomach loudly. “Accessing my heart through my tummy! I like the way you think Mister Man.” 

He grinned, pleased to have figured out what made Soosan tick. “Why thank you. Shockingly from time to time I do come up with good ideas. Like currently, I’m having the good idea that it’s getting dark and we should find somewhere to bunk down for the night. I see a house up ahead there to the southwest. Could be promising?”

Soosan swung her bat back and forth a couple times. “Okay, let’s go check it out. Might be dangerous though.”

Deacon smiled proudly. “Ah, she’s learning. Very good.” He strained his ears. “I don’t hear anything. But in the wasteland silence often precedes violence. That’s a little ditty I just made up for you.” 

They walked quietly toward the house. Soosan motioned to Dogmeat and whispered, “Go in there. Check it out boy.” He slunk forward, sniffing the air before growling. “Shit,” said Soosan. “We’ve got something.”

“I’ll scope it out first. You guys cover my six,” said Deacon, readying his rifle. He crept up to the door of the house, causing the old front porch to creak. He fired one shot, hitting a sleeping feral square in the forehead. Another one woke up and began getting to its feet, but Deacon was too fast for it. He smashed its head with the butt of his gun. “We’re all good in here. Let’s check the outside but otherwise this should be safe for the night.”

Soosan poked her head through the doorway. “Oh my God. How horrifying. Are those the feral ghouls that Preston described earlier? This is what killed most of his group in Lexington? Jesus.” She bent closer, looking at the ferals’ twisted faces and glowing yellow eyes. “These seriously used to be regular people, like us? How did they transform into such pitiful creatures?”

Deacon picked up the feet of the nearest one and dragged it out the door. “Well, the old wives’ tale of the wasteland is that any normal ghoul who starts dwelling too much on life before the war is driven mad by their thoughts. Eventually they lose the ability to talk and they communicate by growling instead.”

Soosan’s mouth went dry. “Caitie you don’t think, that is, Mama Murphy wouldn’t send me out after Nahid if she was feral, right?”

Hob shrugged. “I honestly don’t know where Mama Murphy gets these visions. There’s always a possibility that your sister is no longer a regular ghoul. But I don’t think it’s productive to dwell on the idea of Nahid going feral. That will sap you of all motivation. She’s probably alive and healthy, making use of her medical training and tending to people’s wounds somewhere.”

Soosan slumped down on an old couch, rubbing her temples. “I hope you’re right Caitie-girl. I really do.”

Deacon sat next to her. “Let’s get some food in you. That usually chases away the bad thoughts. Cait can take first watch. There’s a mattress over there in the corner. We can sleep in shifts.”

“Ugh, that thing smells gross. Who knows what…substances have come in contact with that over the years. Blegh,” said Soosan, wrinkling her nose.

“Suit yourself fancy pants,” he said, digging through the pack and pulling out a can of Cram. “It’s either that or this moldy couch. I don’t really care as long as you get enough sleep to make it to Goodneighbor before dark tomorrow. Though, to be fair, the moment you meet Mayor Hancock he’s going to be hounding you with all sorts of questions til the wee hours of the morning.”

“You know Hancock? What’s he like?”

Deacon almost choked while finishing his bite of Cram. “Oh God, how does one begin to describe Hancock?”

Soosan frowned. “That sounds like what Cait said. She called him ‘exuberant’ or something like that.”

He let out a girlish titter. “That’s one way to put it. He’s really into chems, and he’s really into, um, hosting gatherings with the loveliest men and women to pass through the Goodneighbor gate.” He laughed and winked at her, “If you catch my drift.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not some old world prude, Deacon. If Hancock is a drug-fueled, sex crazed, self-impressed party boy, then just tell me that. No need for all the giggles and winks.”

He clapped his hands. “Oh my God, please say all those things in Hancock’s presence. Pretty please. I’d love to bring out my camera and take a candid photo of his reaction.”

“Oh boy. I can hardly wait,” she said sarcastically, leaning her head on the back of the couch and staring up at the ceiling.


	43. The Ball Swatters

“Since we’re a team, you think we could use a code name? Red Orchard, or Code Violet? Ooh, maybe the Three Musketeers? Or the Death Bunnies? That’ll confuse ‘em.”

“Deacon, it’s five in the morning,” begged Hob. “Can’t you save these inane musings of yours for later in the day?”

He shook his head. “No way, hot stuff. My thoughts are golden. It would be a crime not to share them with the world. Besides, Soosan’s about to wake up. I want to know what she would pick for our super-secret, best-friends-club team code name.”

“I’ve been awake for the last half hour. Your deep man voice woke me up,” she said, grumbling and getting to her feet. She walked past Deacon, acting like she was going to look out the window. “And obviously the best team name is the Ball Swatters!” she yelled suddenly, trying to forcefully tap his crotch. 

He let out a high-pitched squeal and leapt backwards just in time, protectively cradling his groin area. “You monster!” he exclaimed, scandalized. “Heavens to Betsy!”

“Deacon, you’ve been cruisin’ for a bruisin’ all morning,” said Soosan, smiling and jokingly shaking her fist at him. “And I’m glad you like our new team name. One of Dougie’s friends explained to me how military guys love touching other men’s balls at random times. Well now military culture is alive and well in the Commonwealth.”

“Soosie Soo, you have just opened a can of worms. Look at you. Right now you think you’ve got in made in the shade. But when you least expect it I’m getting your ass.” He pointed his fingers from his eyes to hers. Soosan stuck her tongue out at him. 

Hob sighed in exasperation. “Come on children. Mommy’s had enough. Play nice.” She heaved the bag onto her back and headed out the door, whistling for Dogmeat and not checking to see if Soosan and Deacon were following her.

The Ball Swatters followed the train tracks and headed south for a ways, skirting Lexington the same way Hob did when she traveled with Carla. “That town is a den full of raiders,” she told Soosan authoritatively. “Let’s avoid it for now.”

They came across a couple dead raiders at a makeshift cemetery next to the tracks. Deacon stopped and looted some leather armor and helped strap it to Soosan’s limbs, adjusting the buckles. She grumbled about wearing dead people’s clothes. Hob reminded her that pretty much everything in the Commonwealth had been worn by someone dead at some point. Deacon also grabbed a Molotov cocktail off one of the bodies and stuffed it in his back pocket.

As they continued south, Soosan’s Pip-Boy starting clicking, increasing in frequency as they walked. “Whoa, we got some radiation around here.”

Deacon jogged forward and hid behind a bush, scouting ahead before running back. “There are some radioactive barrels that fell out of those derailed train cars. Let’s find a way around.” 

Their conversation woke up a couple feral ghouls that had been sleeping under a blue train car. They rasped and lurched forward, triggering a half-hidden frag mine. The blast caused body parts to fly in the air. The mine explosion was loud enough to attract a yao guai that had been lumbering around a nearby campground. It roared and galloped towards them.

“Shit! Run!” yelled Deacon. The group clambered up the jagged rocks and ran to the nearest collection of buildings, the old Jalbert Brothers Disposal. Their thunderous arrival caused mole rats to burst forth from the ground. Dogmeat barked viciously and grabbed them, shaking his head and breaking their necks.

“Dogmeat! Leave it! Come here!” shouted Hob. She stepped over a corpse and climbed into a series of connected metal trailers.

“There’s more radiation around here somewhere,” said Soosan, breathing hard and looking at the Pip-Boy display.

“Don’t care!” said Deacon, fumbling to reload. “The yao guai takes top priority! Cait, get in position right there. Aim for its eyes.”

The snarling beast stuck its head through the doorway, a dead mole rat clenched in its jaw. Deacon and Hob both fired rapidly at its head. With a grunt Soosan raised up her bat and brought it down on the yao guai’s thick skull. The bat’s barbed wire got wedged and she twisted it to remove the bat before cracking the bear’s skull again. Dogmeat slunk underneath and tore at the beast’s vulnerable throat. It slumped forward motionless, blocking the doorway.

Soosan and Deacon sat down panting while Hob dug through her pack for Rad-X. “Take these pills,” she said, dumping them into their outstretched hands. “And here’s some water.” 

“Can we just sit for a moment? That took a lot out of me,” said Soosan, breathing hard. “And by the way, how in the hell did bears evolve to become even scarier? This thing is gigantic!” She shoved its snout with her foot.

Deacon stood up, wiping the sweat from his brow and pulling Soosan to her feet. “We need to press on. All these dead animals are going to attract God knows what – bloodbugs, mongrels, more feral ghouls, that yao guai’s mate. We can rest down the hill, somewhere out of this radiation. Here we go, Ball Swatters, here we go!” He clapped like a cheerleader as they left the disposal grounds.

Hob grabbed a couple Nuka Colas out of the nearby vending machine and jogged after them. They stepped around another corpse on their way southeast. Soosan paused to look at the body’s strange clothing. “Do my eyes deceive me? Is that a colander being worn as a shield? What on earth?”

“Children of Atom,” said Deacon, sipping the Nuka Cola Hob handed him. “As you might expect, total nuclear annihilation brings out the inner religious nut job in a lot of people. The Children of Atom are mainly comprised of people with a higher than normal radiation resistance. They originated a while back in a settlement called Megaton in the Capital Wasteland, worshipping an undetonated nuclear bomb. Naturally that ludicrosity spread up here. There’s a group of Children on the coast up near Salem, and rumor has it there are some living much further north – but don’t quote me on that.”

“Interesting. Yeah, I guess I’m not surprised,” said Soosan, taking a big step to avoid an enormous pothole in the road. “Whoever kidnapped Shayan should’ve studied those people’s radiation resistance instead.” 

As they came into Cambridge, Deacon was quiet, thinking about the kidnapped infant. Hob heard distant echoes of laser fire. She wondered if Cambridge was still occupied by ferals, raiders, and the Brotherhood of Steel. She swallowed, “Maybe we should avoid the town? Sounds like we’ve got trouble up ahead.”

“But why?” asked Soosan. “At the church in Concord didn’t you say that the point of waking up every day and risking violence is to help people? What if someone over there needs help?”

Hob pouted, “I did say that. Fine, let’s go check it out. As long as Deacon approves.”

“Oh ladies. I’ve been wanting to take a vacation to Cambridge for a while now.” He grinned at Hob knowingly.

The Ball Swatters turned left and headed up a hill to a narrow alley. They heard grunting and the rasping wheezes of a swarm of ferals. Deacon paused behind a wall, listening hard and forming a mental picture of the fight. Dogmeat, however, did not wait. He sprinted in front of them, leaping and knocking ghouls to the ground. Soosan ran after him, holding her bat aloft and hollering.

“Goddamn you impulsive people!” swore Deacon. As he peered around the corner, he felt like he’d been punched in the gut. He saw a man in power armor firing repeatedly at the ferals while a small woman behind him smacked a ghoul in the head with her laser pistol. “For the Brotherhood!” she shouted.

Hob grabbed at Deacon’s waist, pulling him back by his dirty white shirt and breathing hard. “Just now, the woman shouting. That was her, Scribe Haylen, from our radio-frequency-scrap-of-paper incident in Goodneighbor. Please don’t hurt her, or Paladin Danse or Rhys either,” she begged, trying to read Deacon’s inscrutable face.

He delicately removed her hand from his shirt. “Of course my little gum drop. It’s hard – though not impossible – to get information out of people when they’re dead.” He winked and pulled the Molotov cocktail out of his back pocket. “Now, be a good girl for daddy and go stand up on that barricade. For this to work we need to get the attention of every feral in the area.”

She took a deep, steadying breath and crouched down. She ran forward to a set of metal stairs and up the barricade. Hob poked her head up and counted no less than seven ferals wandering around near a tractor trailer. She stuck her fingers in her mouth and whistled as loudly as she could. Their bobbling heads turned and looked at her in unison. 

“Hasta la vista!” shouted Deacon, appearing next to her. He flicked a lighter and hurled the Molotov toward the vehicle. It shattered against the driver side door and the fission engine immediately popped and caught fire. “Come on, honey bunny. Time to ditch this party.” He grabbed Hob’s hand and dragged her down the stairs. He shoved her against a makeshift wall of tires, shielding her body from the impending blast as he had done in the Pickman Gallery. “Hey, Soosan, find cover! That thing’s gonna blow!” shouted Deacon.

Soosan didn’t have any time to react before an enormous explosion shook the area. She flew back and landed hard on the steps of the Cambridge Police Station, crushed underneath Danse’s massive power armor. “Soosan!” screamed Hob, shoving Deacon off of her. They rushed to help, joined by Haylen. Together the three of them rolled Danse over. The paladin mumbled incoherently, but Soosan lay unconscious. 

“You two, carry her inside. Rhys, once you’re on your feet, I want you to make certain the perimeter is secure. Then come back here and assist me with Paladin Danse. Move!” barked Haylen.

Hob crouched down and slipped an arm under the crook of Soosan’s knees and around her back to her armpit. She hoisted her in the air and carried Soosan bridal style to the door of the police station. Deacon hurried over and held it open for her. Hob continued into the station and laid Soosan down on the same bed roll she sat on the first time she was here. 

“How is she?” asked Deacon, digging for something in the pack while Hob was still wearing it.

“Not good. I can’t wake her up,” said Hob. She held a couple fingers under Soosan’s nose to check that she was still breathing. 

“It’s time for a little wakey wakey,” he said, holding up a Psycho syringe with a manic look on his face. “I’d say half of one canister will do. Gotta get the old ticker going again.” Deacon tilted Soosan’s neck to the side and found a vein, quickly injecting the chem.

She gasped loudly and sat bolt upright, breathing hard. “What the everloving fuck!”

“Oh good, you’re awake,” said Deacon calmly, putting the Psycho back in the bag. “I gotta go help those guys outside. Cultivating good will and all that. Cait, you got this?”

She nodded and held Soosan’s hand. “How are you feeling?”

“What the hell happened?” asked Soosan. She smacked her lips a couple times. The metallic taste of blood danced on her tongue.

“Deacon threw a Molotov cocktail at that truck. It exploded sooner than he thought and you got caught in the blast. The big guy in power armor landed on you. How’s your head?”

“Oh Jesus,” moaned Soosan, wiping away blood from the corner of her mouth. She gently rubbed the back of her head. “I’m not sure. Felt like I got hit by a freight train.”

“I’m so sorry. It was a really nasty looking accident. In the Museum of Freedom Mama Murphy snuck the only Med-X we have. I can ask the woman out there if she has any other chems to make you feel better.” 

Soosan bit her lip, trying not to show how much pain she was actually in. She nodded, then hissed at how the motion made her headache worse. “Yes please,” she said through gritted teeth.

Hob rushed outside. Haylen and Deacon had pulled Danse to his feet. The scribe was fussing over the paladin, but he seemed uninjured. “Pardon me, um, ma’am? My friend in there is hurting pretty badly. Do you happen to have any Med-X for the pain?”

“Unfortunately we’re running low on supplies. Let me take a look at her. She probably just needs a stimpak.” Haylen rushed inside. 

Danse looked at both Hob and Deacon, eyes narrowed. He drew himself up to his full height. “Civilians, we appreciate the assistance, but what’s your business here?”

“Pest exterminator – we heard you had an infestation of ferals,” said Deacon, a smile playing on his lips.

“Evading my questions is a surefire way of getting yourself ejected from the compound,” responded Danse sternly.

“Seriously? Our friend Soosan is injured inside and you’re threatening to kick us out? You should be ashamed of yourself paladin. That doesn’t seem very honorable,” said Hob, glaring at him and putting her hands on her hips.

“How do you know my title?” asked Danse, fixing her with a hard stare. “Perhaps your intentions here are less honorable than you say.”

“Cait’s just a little excited. Your doctor mentioned that you’re a paladin. Anyway, we heard the sounds of a fight and thought you needed a hand,” said Deacon simply.

“The way your friend charged in there and engaged those ferals, I find that difficult to believe.”

Deacon chuckled, “Oh that’s just how Soosan is. She acts first, thinks second. With a bat in her hand and a dog by her side she’s like a reckless wrecking ball.” 

Danse seemed satisfied. “Hmm. Is your party coming from a local settlement?”

“It’s not exactly a settlement yet, but we came from Sanctuary Hills, on the other side of Concord.” Hob gestured to the northwest.

“Ah. The location is on our maps, but I’ve never visited the area myself. There isn’t any interesting technology over there for us to collect. I apologize. If I appeared suspicious, it’s because our mission here has been difficult. Since the moment we arrived in the Commonwealth, we’ve been under fire constantly. If you want to continue pitching in, we could use an extra gun on our side.”

Haylen walked up behind him. “Paladin? The woman inside wants to speak with you. She’s, um, well you’ll see soon enough.”

Hob and Deacon exchanged a meaningful glance. “We’d better come with you. I woke Soosan up with some Psycho so she’s bound to be a little fiery right now,” said Deacon, as sweetly as he could.

Inside the station, Soosan was pacing back and forth. “I don’t like secrecy. Who are you people, really? Why is that one wearing power armor?”

He interjected, “The name is Paladin Danse, Brotherhood of Steel. This is Scribe Haylen, and Knight Rhys is currently outside securing the perimeter. We’re on recon duty, but I’m down a man. A feral got Knight Keane right before you showed up.”

Soosan stopped pacing. “Recon duty?” 

“It means we’re doing reconnaissance – exploring the greater Boston area and trying to determine the strategic pros and cons of various locations,” said Danse.

“Oh my God, are you serious? I know what fucking ‘recon’ is. I’m not a moron. What I meant is what are you people doing here in my town? Stealing power armor and getting up to no good are we?” asked Soosan, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow at him.

“You had better watch your tone, civilian,” warned Rhys, coming up the steps inside the police station. “Usually vault dwellers are capable of showing respect.”

Soosan huffed, “Don’t associate me with Vault-Tec. I have nothing to do with those morally bankrupt bastards.”

“Pardon the dumb question, but if you have nothing to do with Vault-Tec then why are you wearing that vault suit?” asked Haylen, pointing to the blue patches of fabric sticking out in between Soosan’s pieces of armor. 

“Right after the bombs dropped, everyone rushed to the safety of the vaults. However, instead of protecting us they chose to experiment on us. We were frozen in suspended animation in these cryo-pods. I just thawed out.”

“Are you implying that you’re pre-war?” asked Danse, eyeing Soosan warily. “Since you’re not a ghoul that seems highly improbable.”

“It’s true. I’m 100% old school. Cait, Deacon, will I have to keep explaining this to everyone I meet? I think that’s going to get real old, real fast. Patience is not one of my virtues.”

“You don’t have to explain anything you don’t want to. But it might help if you ditched that vault suit,” said Deacon.

Soosan sat on the bed roll, rubbing her neck. Dogmeat laid down next to her. “I apologize everyone. That Psycho is still coursing through my veins. Yes, I’m pre-war. And I’m extra sensitive because my husband was in the army and we just extricated him from the vault cryo-pod and laid him to rest yesterday morning. I didn’t expect to run into you people. Is the Brotherhood of Steel supposed to be what’s left of the military? Is that why you’re wearing power armor?”

“Ah, I see,” said Danse, softening. “I didn’t know you were a military spouse. My condolences, ma’am. Yes, after the Great War the U.S. military essentially morphed into the Brotherhood of Steel. Our founder was the legendary Captain Roger Maxson, and our current leader is his descendent, Elder Arthur Maxson. He may be young, but we believe his soul was forged from eternal steel.”

To quell the derisive laughter bubbling up inside him, Deacon bit the inside of his cheek so hard it started bleeding.

Danse continued, “On the east coast, the Brotherhood of Steel is based in the Citadel – formerly the Pentagon – in the Capital Wasteland. We’ve centralized control in that region so efficaciously that Elder Maxson has decided to explore new territory. A few years ago, Recon Squad Artemis came to the Commonwealth in search of salvageable technology. Unfortunately, they never returned. My team, Recon Squad Gladius, is here to find them – or their holotags,” he added bitterly. “Of course, we keep encountering problems and supplies are running low. If it were solely up to me Gladius would relocate, but Scribe Haylen detected some disturbing energy readings in the area that need to be investigated.”

“How can an energy reading be disturbing? Do you mean like a high concentration of radiation?” asked Hob.

“That information is classified, civilian,” said Rhys.

“Are we in danger?” asked Soosan, getting to her feet.

“No, nothing like that,” said Danse reassuringly. “Anyway, I’ve been trying to send a distress call to our superiors, but the signal’s too weak to reach them. We need something to boost the signal. Our target is ArcJet Systems. It contains the technology we need – the Deep Range Transmitter. The plan is to infiltrate the facility, secure the transmitter, and bring it back here. What do you say? Willing to lend the Brotherhood of Steel a hand?”

Soosan willed her tongue to be more polite. “Um, I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, Paladin Danse. I’m on a similar mission – I’m searching for someone important to me. It’s a long shot but I’m hoping she’s still alive. Your plan does sound like a good one though. If I recall correctly ArcJet is to the west? We sort of came that way. Beware the feral ghouls and yao guai,” she said, shuddering at the thought of the mutated bear. 

“I see. I wish you luck with your mission, ma’am.”

“Wait,” said Deacon, turning to Haylen, “would you happen to have a radio frequency or some other way to contact you? Maybe in our travels we’ll come across someone from this Recon Squad Artemis.”

“I hardly think that’s necessary,” interrupted Hob.

“Oh that’s an excellent idea,” agreed Soosan. 

Haylen scribbled “AF95 BoS” on a piece of paper and handed it to Deacon. “Here you go. Good luck out there. If you encounter any more ferals, or super mutants or synths, give ‘em hell for us.”

Deacon nodded but said nothing. He headed out the door, followed by Soosan. Hob picked up her pack and whistled to Dogmeat. “Thank you for your medical assistance.”

Rhys watched her go, furrowing his dark brows. “There’s something weird about them, especially that Cait. Didn’t her pack look familiar?”

Haylen chuckled, “Rhys you sound delirious. I never got to bandage your wounds, but based on how you’re talking it seems your prognosis is pretty grim. Maybe I should just take you out back and shoot you?”

Danse laughed while Rhys continued scowling.


	44. Checker and Charles

From the police station, the Ball Swatters headed east through the ruins. At Deacon’s suggestion, they stopped for a proper rest at the Cambridge Campus Diner. 

“Wow, time has not been kind to this place,” said Soosan, stepping gingerly over a crate of broken mugs. “What a shame. In law school I came here several days a week. It was a cozy place to grab a cup of coffee in between classes.”

Deacon headed straight to the employee area, looking through the fridges as if he were in his own kitchen. “We got a Salisbury Steak and a Yum Yum Deviled Eggs,” he called from the back. “Who wants what?”

“I’m not really hungry. Still all wound up with adrenaline,” said Hob, crouching down and rummaging through the shelves under the main counter. “Maybe a bit later.”

“I’ll take the eggs,” said Soosan, pulling a couple skeletons out of their booth and unceremoniously dumping them on the floor. “This is my old spot,” she said happily, sliding and squeaking across the red vinyl. Deacon handed her the food and offered her a Gwinnett Stout. She shook her head. “Oh that’s okay. I don’t actually drink alcohol.”

He frowned, “Really?”

“Yeah, it’s a Baha’i thing – we can’t consume things that alter our judgment,” she explained hurriedly, as she had many times before the war. “I’m guessing my religion probably didn’t survive the apocalypse, but it doesn’t seem wise to start drinking now.” 

Deacon sat across from Soosan and took a swig of the beer. He peeled the label off and curled it into tiny strips. “Hmm. You might have a hard time fitting in with one Mayor John Hancock. I can’t remember the last time I saw him sober. He can get suspicious of people who don’t drink alcohol or take any recreational chems. He thinks they’re trying to get the upper hand on him, or remember unsavory things for blackmail purposes.”

“Hey now, I’m not a dick. I wouldn’t do that to him. Besides, I’m plenty of fun. Dougie always told me ‘Soo, you’re the life of the party – whether you were invited or not’.” She smiled at the memory of her husband. “But this Hancock sounds clinically depressed. If he’s completely dependent on alcohol or drugs, then he should be finding alternative coping mechanisms.”

Hob handed Soosan a Nuka Cola before scooching next to Deacon in the booth. Her thighs rubbed against his and a frisson of electricity ran up Hob’s spine. She tried to keep her voice neutral. “Soosan, I’m sure you have all the best intentions. It’s just, well, the wasteland is so violent that healthy living seems futile. If you wake up knowing you or your friends might die, then there’s not much preventing you from drinking to excess every night.”

“Besides,” added Deacon, who was surreptitiously nuzzling his foot against Hob’s boot, “there’s some pretty messed up stuff in Hancock’s past. I can’t get into the specifics, and I’m not excusing his behavior, but I can’t say I blame the guy.”

Soosan sipped her soda and drummed her fingers on the table. “Well, I’m excited to meet him. Maybe my dramatic past will be so exciting that he’ll completely overlook me being such a square.”

“Or you should just go into battle with him. Between you and your bat, and him with his shotgun, one fight will be more than enough to get the blood pumping,” said Deacon. He smiled ruefully, “You do drive me nuts, you know. If you’d just waited back there in Cambridge, my Molotov plan would’ve gone off without a hitch. I didn’t mean for you to get knocked out.”

“But every second I waited was another chance those people could have been injured or even killed,” said Soosan, her temper rising. “This doesn’t seem like a world where someone should hesitate.”

“And that’s precisely why you should. Wastelanders are notoriously impulsive people. Literally one second can mean the difference between life and death. Besides, that Brotherhood paladin was in power armor. He didn’t need a dog and a vault popsicle coming to his rescue,” said Deacon calmly, raising an eyebrow.

“Please you two. We were all being so civil,” interrupted Hob, trying to stave off another argument. “Today has been hard enough already. Can we just be nice?”

Soosan huffed and got up from the booth. She marched over to the jukebox, balling up a fist and smacking the top of it as hard as she could. Orange and blue neon lights flickered on and Chubby Checker’s boisterous voice boomed in the diner: “Yeah, you should see my little sis / You should see my, my little sis / She really knows how to rock / She knows how to twist / Come on and twist / Yeah, baby twist / Ooh yeah, just like this / Come on little miss, and do the twist!” 

Tears leaked out of the corners of Soosan’s eyes. The bittersweet hilarity went straight to her heart. She jumped and clapped, all traces of anger disappearing immediately. “Nahid and I loved this song!” she shouted. Soosan turned back toward the booth and wiggled her hips in an exaggerated manner. “When she was pregnant we had late night dance parties, just the two of us. The energy caused Shayan to kick in the womb. We joked that he wanted to leave his cozy little house and come join us. Have you guys ever danced to this song?” 

Hob smiled stiffly and shook her head. Deacon watched Soosan, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. “I gotta admit,” he said, tapping his fingers on his leg, “The Twist is totally supermurgitroid, baby.” He put his hand on Hob’s knee and squeezed, motioning for her to get up from the booth. He crossed the black and white linoleum floor and tilted his head down, looking at Soosan over his mirrored sunglasses. “Come on snake – let’s rattle.”

Soosan threw her head back in raucous laughter. “Deeeeacon! Yes! Okay, watch me. This is the best way to do the Twist. Pretend you have a towel and you’re drying off your back from side to side, and then while you’re doing that rotate the ball of your foot like you’re putting out a cigarette. And then switch feet occasionally. Got it? Watch me.” She jumped around and wriggled, bending her knees and sinking low to the floor before bouncing up and doing it again. Dogmeat barked excitedly and jumped up at them before running back to Hob. 

Deacon removed his shades and put them in his pocket. He sidestepped over to Hob, extending his hand. “Come on Cait, no party poopers allowed.”

She protectively placed an arm across her torso and twisted a finger in the vesture’s red hair. “No, I haven’t danced before. I wouldn’t be any good.”

Soosan jived and shimmied over to Hob. “No excuses Caitie-girl! The Twist is a sickness and you’ve just been infected!” She grabbed Hob’s hands and pulled her onto their checkerboard dance floor. Deacon squirm-danced behind them, freely interpreting the original moves of the Twist. Hob stepped back and forth rapidly, mimicking Soosan’s motions. She couldn’t seem to get her arms to work in rhythm with her feet, but she tried nonetheless. Soosan was dancing so wildly she nearly knocked heads with Hob and almost whacked Deacon in the face with her flailing arms.

After a few minutes, the song ended. The jukebox’s mechanical arm extended out and down, removing a green holotape and returning it to its slot. The arm swung to the right and plucked a purple holotape to play. A slower melody began. Soosan tried to calm her breathing. “I need some water. But don’t let me stop the fun. Keep dancing you two.” She smiled at the thinness of her own pretense, walking around the long counter and towards the employee area in the back of the diner. She hid behind the tall red Sicilian espresso maker, chewing her lip as she watched her companions standing awkwardly next to each other.

Deacon took a step towards Hob. “I’m guessing you’ve never slow danced before.” He stooped a little, grabbing her left hand and draping it across his shoulder and the back of his neck. His skin erupted in goosebumps. Deacon snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her close to his body. Heat bloomed in between them. His other hand curled around hers, holding it more tightly than he realized. He used her own thumb to nudge her chin up. “Don’t stare at your feet. You’ll trip. Look somewhere else.”

She cleared her throat, unable to maintain eye contact with Deacon’s piercing baby blues. Hob’s eyes fell on his lips. She swallowed nervously before giving up and resting her head against his chest, feeling the thumps of his heartbeat vibrate in her ears. She instinctively followed his lead. They moved slowly, rotating in place while Ray Charles serenaded them from the jukebox: “You give your hand to me / And then you say ‘Hello’ / And I can hardly speak / My heart is beating so / And anyone can tell / You think you know me well / Well, you don’t know me.” 

Soosan sipped from a can of purified water, smugly satisfied at the results of her matchmaking in absentia. She quietly withdrew into the employee kitchen and bided her time searching for junk. She almost let out a whoop when she found a bar of soap in the bottom of a utility sink.

On the dancefloor, Deacon lightly rubbed Hob’s knuckles with his thumb as they swayed. He thought of Ray Charles – another iconic sunglasses wearer – as the blind singer crooned: “No you don’t know the one / Who dreams of you each night / And longs to kiss your lips / And longs to hold you tight / To you I’m just a friend / That’s all I’ve ever been / No you don’t know me.”

As the lyrics floated into Deacon’s ears, he felt his chest tighten with foreboding. A slight gasp escaped him and he hastily broke apart from Hob. Deacon cleared his throat loudly, reached into his pocket, and put his sunglasses back on. “Hey Soosan! Where are you? We need to get going. If we delay any longer we’re going to be traipsing through Boston after dark, and I do not recommend that.”

Hob’s mouth went dry and her skin flushed. She quickly turned away from Deacon, bending down and pretending to rummage in the pack. She surreptitiously felt how hot her cheeks were with the back of her hand. After finally being able to swallow, she croaked, “Yes, he’s right. We’ve had a good long break. Time to rock and roll. No pun intended.”

Soosan emerged from the back room, dismayed. “Oh I see. I’m sure you’re right. Go on ahead, I’ll meet you outside. I just gotta readjust my vault suit. It’s riding up in my delicate lady areas.”

Deacon grunted in understanding and opened the door for Hob, following both her and Dogmeat across the threshold. Soosan waited until the door closed before running over to the jukebox. She grabbed one edge and pulled the massive machine away from the wall. “Come on, come on. Where are you, you little bastard?” she muttered, searching the backside for the correct switch. “Aha! Excellent.” She flipped it, unlatching the glass front of the jukebox. Soosan rifled through the colorful holotapes, pulling out select ones until she had a bundle in her arms. She dumped them into the bag, shaking it so they fell down to the bottom. “Oh right!” she exclaimed, running to the back of the diner and grabbing her prized bar of soap. Soosan placed it gently in a smaller outside pocket. She heaved the bag onto her back, picked up her trusty barbed wire bat, and jogged out the door.

“All good to go. I don’t mind hauling this pack for a while, Caitie. You deserve a break. Sometimes it’s nice for someone else to think of your needs,” she said, staring pointedly at Deacon while doing so. He put his hands in his pockets and started walking forward.

“Oh, thanks,” replied Hob lethargically, shaking herself back to the present. Her voice was strangely hoarse but she tried to make it sound normal. “I have a rough idea of where to go but our route is, um, up to Deacon.”

He continued walking ahead of them, turning his head slightly to talk over his shoulder. “We’ll keep going south. Past C.I.T. is a bridge over the Charles. There’s a wrecked cargo ship in the middle of the river, controlled by raiders. As long as we all keep quiet we should be able to slip by them. A lot of raiders are still sleeping at this time of day.” 

The Ball Swatters trekked in silence. Soosan fell to the rear. She watched the back of Hob’s head, wishing she could telepathically apologize for forcing the situation. She wondered if Hob and Deacon had perhaps been in a relationship that ended badly. Soosan cursed herself for being so pushy. Over the years Douglas had tried to prevent her from sticking her nose where it didn’t belong, but he almost never found success. 

At the bridge, Deacon halted at the transition from asphalt to the metal grate of the drawbridge, hiding in the shadow of a tall column. “Our footsteps will echo on this metal. Tread softly, meaning tiptoe on the balls of your feet. Once you cross the ladder watch where you step. There are gaping holes in the bridge. If you miss and fall through, then good luck getting out of that disgusting water. I’ll go first, followed by the mutt.”

They crept up the west side of the bridge and over the ladder, silently sneaking past the raiders. Deacon wordlessly pointed to holes in the bridge and gestured what path to take. He stopped on the other side, evaluating the various roads in front of them.

“Is everything okay? Are we safe from the raiders?” asked Soosan.

“Yeah, it’s fine.” He motioned down the road directly to the south. “That’s the way to Diamond City, or Fenway Park as you’d know it. Goodneighbor’s this way, to the left. Are you sure you still want to go see Hancock instead of checking out D.C.?”

Soosan sighed, thinking back on Mama Murphy’s vision in Sanctuary. “I just don’t see who in Diamond City could be a better lead than an actual ghoul who is connected to a wider ghoul community. Let’s stick with Goodneighbor.”

“You got it, boss,” he replied, turning east and strolling along the riverfront. Dogmeat ran ahead, inspecting a broken down refrigerator. As Deacon walked down some stone steps, he held up a hand to stop Hob and Soosan. “We got trouble ahead, up there by Back Street Apparel.” They shuffled behind a tractor trailer that had crashed into a bus when the bombs dropped. “The raiders there mostly hang out inside, but usually there’s a lookout or two in front, as well as a couple turrets. Soosan, this is your world now. What should we do?”

Her eyes widened and she looked back and forth from Hob to Deacon. “Um, can we go around?”

“We absolutely can. A wise choice. Follow me, ladies.” Deacon led them along a street parallel to the riverfront. 

Soosan stopped near a fairly well preserved building. “Aw, Bridgeway Trust? That used to be my bank. Well, not this particular branch, but the same company.”

“That is a scintillating story. I’d love to hear all the sexy details of banks having different branches, but let’s save that for another time,” said Deacon peevishly. “Another important rule of the wasteland is eliminating unnecessary conversation when traveling through the ruins.”

Soosan made a childish noise of agreement. She sulked the whole way to Boston Common. The reeking smell of the stagnant pond forced her to comment. “How upsetting. I wish you all had seen this in its prime. Every summer Dougie and I braved the tourist crowds and did a swan boat tour of the garden. It used to be full of flowers and butterflies.”

Deacon grabbed her arm and pulled Soosan into a broken down bus. “Don’t get me wrong, I really truly actually love hearing about that old world shit, but the Common is not how you remember. There’s an enormous creature living in the middle of the pond. No one knows exactly what it is, so we just call it the Swan. A lot divides us in the Commonwealth but we can all agree on one thing – everyone avoids Boston Common. Not a word as we cut through it, or we will not live to find Nahid. Got it?”

Hob and Soosan nodded solemnly. Dogmeat slunk low to the ground and followed them as they passed by the Massachusetts State House and Park Street Station. Around the corner at the Old Granary Burying Ground, Deacon and Soosan killed a couple feral ghouls, as did Hob for the first time. Dogmeat woofed quietly, leading them to a corner of the cemetery where the warm corpse of a Gunner lay slumped over a large duffel bag. Soosan crouched over the body, checking its pockets for loot. “So, this is a Gunner. You said they’re mercenaries?”

Deacon shrugged. “Well, supposedly. It’s kind of a mystery how they operate. They imitate military structure but they call themselves mercenaries. In practice, they’re more like raiders in terms of the gleeful killing and indiscriminate slaughter. They wiped out the Quincy settlement for no real reason other than that they could.” 

“If these guys are mercenaries, could I hire them to help me find my sister?”

Deacon laughed and gave Hob a knowing look. “Actually, there’s an overeager former Gunner who’s hanging out just over yonder in Goodneighbor. His real name’s MacCready, but I call him Blamco. Like a true merc, caps are the only thing that warm the cockles of his frigid heart.”

Hob frowned at him. “I hardly think that’s true. There must be more to him than caps.” She turned to Soosan, “You may recall Preston mentioned MacCready in his toast a couple nights ago? Mac was the one who helped the settler group get north out of Boston. Apparently everything went to shit after he left, but before that it sounds like he was on top of it. Maybe you could inquire about his services.”

Soosan rolled up the Gunner’s duffel and stuffed it into the pack. “That’s a good idea, my eternally clever Caitie. Deacon, you said we’re close to Goodneighbor? Can we get moving?”

He took a deep breath. “Yes, but another difficult stretch is right in front of us. A group of super mutants lives in that tower just ahead. They’re always making it difficult for people to get into Goodneighbor. No matter how many times we wipe them out they keep reappearing from God knows where. It’s almost like they spawn from the ether.”

“First of all, what in the hell is a super mutant? Secondly, can’t we find another way around, like with those raiders earlier?” asked Soosan.

Deacon rubbed the back of his neck in unease. “Let’s make a deal – if we make it past them, then I’ll explain what a super mutant is. Don’t want to freak you out unnecessarily. The problem with an alternate route is that Goodneighbor is totally enclosed. Great for defense, but everyone is funneled to one entrance. It makes the surrounding area a constant hotspot. Soosan, you’re carrying that heavy pack. It’ll make it hard to sneak by the super mutants.”

“It’s almost dark though. Couldn’t we try?” pleaded Hob. “We’re so close.”

He sighed heavily. “As long as you’re 110% alert. Don’t make me regret this.”

They followed Deacon, pausing behind opportunely placed objects and vehicles. At one point Soosan flattened herself on the ground next to a pile of sandbags. They heard the deep, growling conversation of two super mutants. 

“What’s that? A noise?” said one.

“Bah, ears play tricks on me again,” moaned the other one before thudding upstairs.

Past the building, Deacon headed to the right and resumed his normal posture. Soosan and Hob followed suit. They wound around the corner and Deacon gestured at the blue and red sign that from afar gave off a purple glow. “Ladies, welcome to Goodneighbor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Supermurgitroid" is real 50s slang and now a permanent part of my vocabulary ;)


	45. Insurance

Deacon pushed open the gate and gestured the group inside. Overwhelming urine fumes hit everyone’s noses. Hob coughed, grateful that the last time she was here the ghoul vesture prevented her from smelling such powerful odors.

A sullen bald man smoking a cigarette prowled over to the group. Hob instantly recognized him as Finn, one of the chem dealers who’d been harassing Preston’s settlers. She had hoped he’d still be in that brick building, or wherever Fahrenheit and the neighborhood watch ushered him and Simone off to.

“What do you want asshole?” said Hob, straightening her shoulders and glaring at him. Dogmeat stood next to her, hackles raised, alarmed by the sudden change in her tone of voice.

He chuckled darkly, tossing the cigarette to the ground. “It must be your first time in Goodneighbor. If you’d been here before you’d know not to speak to me like that. Something bad might happen to you. I don’t think we want that.”

“She’s definitely been here before,” interjected Soosan, her fingers twitching around the handle of her bat. “And as hard as she’s tried, sadly she can’t forget your ugly face.”

“Easy there vaultie,” he snarled, stepping closer to her. “I don’t think blood splatters would look too pretty on that blue suit of yours. Besides, I’m just a simple salesman.”

Soosan scoffed, “Oh yeah? What do you sell? Because if it’s a cure for disgusting breath and tobacco-stained teeth, then I’m guessing your product doesn’t work.” She raised both eyebrows in mock pity. 

He stared daggers at her. “Now don’t be like that. I sell insurance, you know, for personal protection. And right now, you better hand over everything you got in that bag, or else ‘accidents’ start happenin’ to ya. Big, bloody, ‘accidents’. Understand?”

Behind them, Deacon stifled a laugh. “Eh, I give your extortion sales pitch two out of five stars. It’s not very creative. I think I’ve heard it somewhere before. Oh right, from you, literally every time someone steps through the Goodneighbor gate.”

Finn opened his mouth to retort, but Soosan took the opportunity to stomp on his instep as hard as she could. He howled in pain, hopping around on his other foot. She rammed the bat into his stomach, pushing him to the ground and knocking the wind out of him. She stared down at him coldly. “You’re right buddy. I’m pretty clumsy. I guess accidents do happen,” said Soosan, shrugging and stepping over Finn.

He reached out and grabbed her ankle, yanking her towards him. She fell hard on her chin. Her teeth clacked as her jaw collided with the pavement. Dogmeat barked and sunk into Finn’s leg, viciously attempting to pull him away. Hob and Deacon rushed forward, but in a flash Hancock had appeared next to them.

“Let her go Finn,” the mayor ordered in a menacingly calm voice.

“This bitch attacked me,” he panted, trying to kick off Dogmeat. He looked at Hancock and shook his head. “You’re soft, Johnnie boy. You keep letting outsiders walk all over us. One day, there’ll be a new mayor. Mark my words.”

Hancock glanced at Soosan, eyeing the blood leaking out of the corner of her mouth. “Hey man, this is me we’re talking about. Your old buddy Hancock.” He crouched next to Finn, “Come here, I got a secret to tell ya.” He lowered his head and whispered into Finn’s ear, “Now why’d you have to go and say that? A new mayor? You’re breaking my heart over here.” The mayor reached into a pocket of his red coat and pulled out a combat knife. In one swift motion he plunged it into Finn’s chest, twisting it as he removed it. He wiped it clean on Finn’s shirt and returned the knife to its bespoke pocket.

Soosan coughed, spitting blood on the ground. “That’s quite a warm welcome.”

“You all right sister?” asked the ghoul, holding out both his hands and pulling Soosan to her feet. He tilted her head and examined her jaw, sensually running a thumb over her lips and wiping away the blood. She winced at his pressure on the bruise that was blooming on her chin. “Those were some swift defensive moves. Like poetry in motion. Or like a Grognak comic come to life. Either one.”

“How about you? Jesus, you killed him so quickly. If I had blinked I would have missed it.”

“You got a good pair of eyes on ya. I think you’ll fit in here,” he said appreciatively.

Soosan smiled, revealing her bloodstained teeth. “My next planned move was turning around and smashing the bottom of my boot into his ugly face.”

Hancock laughed loudly and gestured at Finn’s body. “By all means, if you need to, go right ahead. This scum deserves it. We’re in my town. Think of this as your home away from home. Goodneighbor’s of the people, for the people – you feel me? Everyone’s welcome.” 

“Sounds like anarchy. Right on, man,” said Soosan. 

He laughed even harder and clapped her shoulder. “I can already tell I’m going to like you. But now don’t be shy. Tell me about your friends.” As they turned toward the group Hancock gave Deacon a knowing look.

“Oh sure, though I know they’ve been here before. I’m Soosan, and this is Deacon and Cait, and that fluffy monster is Dogmeat.”

Hancock raised a non-existent eyebrow at Hob. “Well hello good-looking,” he said smarmily, reaching out and kissing the back of her hand, before continuing to press little kisses up her arm. “Believe me, I would remember meeting you already.”

Hob anxiously tapped her fingers against the side of her leg. “Mayor Hancock, you’re such a busy man. I’m sure it’s slipped your mind. If I recall you last saw me leaving the Memory Den, kind of abruptly?”

Hancock glanced at Deacon, who nodded in agreement to the ghoul’s silent question. The mayor took a step back. “Oh jeez I’m sorry sweetheart. A lot of people come and go. Of course, um, Cait. Yes.” His eyes traveled up and down her body, “You’re looking really good baby. A lot healthier than the last time I saw you. Wow.”

“That’s so funny, that trader Trashcan Carla said the same thing,” observed Soosan, frowning slightly. “Did something happen to you Caitie-girl?”

Hob squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, searching for the right explanation. “Uh, yeah, this damn body of mine used to be kind of, um, addicted to chems. But I’ve gotten clean so that’s probably why I seem different to everyone.” Deacon internally applauded her, impressed by the quickness of the lie, unaware that it was wrapped in layers of truth. 

“Oh God, Cait I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. I’m always getting involved in things that aren’t my business. Just like earlier today with the whole – “ Soosan broke off, avoiding Deacon’s gaze. “Never mind all that. So, we’re finally here in Goodneighbor with the famous John Hancock, mayor extraordinaire. What luck.”

He whistled. “Famous, eh? I’m not sure if that’s good or bad.” He bowed, imitating his eighteenth-century namesake. “Well, here I am. What can I do for you, gorgeous?”

Deacon interrupted, “Actually Hancock, I need to burn rubber. Duty calls and all that. But I will be leaving these two in your strong and capable hands.”

Hob turned around. “Wait, where are you going? I thought we were helping Soosan?” She studied his face, which was carefully arranged to be as neutral as possible.

“I got work to do, pookie bear. Don’t worry, I’m around. If it’s an emergency Hancock can get a message to me.” She pouted at him but said nothing. He swung his arms back and forth, snapping his fingers nervously. “Um, okay, I’m off then.” Deacon looked at Hob’s face, but she was suddenly very interested in her feet. He slipped out the gate, closing it softly.

Hancock cleared his throat. “No need to be sad ladies. Daddy’s here. Come on up to my digs and you can fill me in on everything.”


	46. Heavy Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: drug use

Upstairs in the Old State House, Soosan settled onto Hancock’s squashy red couch. “Hold still darling,” he said, sitting next to her and injecting half a stimpak into her jaw. “I don’t want to hurt you. How are you feeling? Need any Med-X?”

She stretched and twisted, noticing how the pain of being squashed by Paladin Danse was catching up with her. “Actually, that would be wonderful. I needed some earlier, but the Brotherhood scribe said they were running low on supplies.”

Hancock froze, eyeing her suspiciously. “Uh, how about you fill me in on what’s been going on first. Then if you’ve been a good girl I can give you the Med-X.”

Hob was sitting on the other couch, staring off into space, ruminating on why Deacon left their group so hastily. If he could have run instead of walked he would have. She was surprised he even bothered to guide them all the way to Goodneighbor. She sighed, wondering what exactly he did for the Railroad besides dropping holotapes in random locations and dressing up like a Diamond City security guard.

“Cait!”

“Huh, what?”

“I’ve been trying to get your attention. Are you feeling okay?” asked Soosan, frowning with concern at the distracted person sitting before her.

Hob cleared her throat. “Yeah, sorry. Thinking about, um, your sister,” she lied. “What’s up?”

Soosan stood up and unzipped her vault suit. “Hancock is going to draw me a bath. Can you run down to a store called Daisy’s Discounts? She operates a laundry service, but I also need some new clothes that aren’t bright blue and yellow. You know me pretty well by now. Just buy whatever you think would fit, and looks cute of course.” She winked ostentatiously. 

Hob got to her feet, following Soosan to the bathroom. She took the soiled vault suit and underthings through a crack in the door, breathing in the steam that rose from the surface of the bathtub. Dogmeat laid down in front of the door, guarding Soosan from whoever dared pass by.

As Hob put a hand on the railing of the spiral staircase, Hancock appeared and grabbed her upper arm, escorting her backward and shoving her against the wall of his bedroom. He lowered his voice, which was more amused than accusatory. “Well, if it ain’t my old buddy Hob – oh I mean Cait. Last time I saw you, you had a face like mine and you were breaking Irma’s vases as you high-tailed it out of here. What the hell happened? How’d you end up as the virtuous vaultie’s redheaded sidekick?”

“It’s a long story Hancock. Can it wait until Soosan’s out of the bath? She can tell the details more accurately than I.”

“That pretty little thing can stay naked and wet in there as long as she wants. But while I have you here, what is going on between you and Deacon? The way he left just now was like watching the end of fucking Casablanca or something. Did you two have a falling out?”

Hob looked down at her feet, willing back the tears that threatened to come. “I honestly don’t know what I did wrong. One minute we were slow dancing in the diner in Cambridge, the next minute he pushed me away and said we needed to get going. His face looked like he had just triggered a frag mine.”

Hancock’s black eyes grew wide and he threw his head back and laughed. He kept laughing, shaking and holding his sides. “No shit. Deeks was dancing? We’ve gotten wasted in the Third Rail plenty of times and not once has he ever shown an ounce of rhythm, or even the general inclination to dance. Fuck me, that’s a funny mental image.”

Hob tilted her head and glared at him. “I’m glad my heartbroken despair can provide some much needed levity to your day.”

He grabbed her shoulders. “Hey sunshine, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. You may be new to this romance shit, but you’re not crazy. Something did happen – exactly what is anyone’s guess. Deacon keeps more secrets than the rest of my comrades combined. Trying to understand him is like putting together a thousand piece puzzle blindfolded, with one hand tied behind your back. You’ll never figure out what’s going on inside his head. Keep your chin up and find something else to focus on in the meantime.”

She nodded, unsure whether she should believe him or not. “If you say so. Are we finished here? I need to run these dirty clothes down to Daisy and buy something more practical for Soosan to wear.”

“I’ll come with you, sister.”

Down at the store, Daisy held up the vault suit and traced the numbers stitched on the back. “Watching a vault dweller step through that gate and kick the shit out of Finn? Highlight of my week, Hancock. This laundry goes on your tab, I presume?”

“Yeah, and Cait here needs to find less conspicuous clothing for our hero of the day.”

Daisy looked at Hob, pursing her lips. “I think our vaultie is about your size.” She rummaged under the counter, but didn’t find what she was thinking of. She searched upstairs and brought down a box. “How about this?” she asked, holding a shirt and slacks up to Hob’s body. 

“Soosan in a little black suit? Wouldn’t that be a sight for sore eyes,” said Hancock, biting his lip and leaning casually against the wall. “I could get used to that.”

“The jacket and pants are standard cloth, but this shirt is ballistic weave. Not only does it look sharp, it increases damage and energy resistance. It’s lightweight and highly functional,” explained Daisy. “Plus it’s thin enough to go under her leather armor pieces.”

“That’s perfect,” said Hob. “I will do anything to keep Soosan safe. I have caps in my bag, but I left it up there in the Old State house.”

“Nonsense,” said Hancock, waving his hand. “She did me a favor by taking on Finn. This is on the house. Daisy, wash these too and send up the laundry with Fahr whenever it’s ready.” He paused. “Hey Daise, what liquor do you have? Maybe I’ll grab a bottle or two of whiskey and settle in for a night of storytelling.”

“Oh, um, Soosan doesn’t drink any alcohol or do recreational chems,” said Hob, unsure if that was her secret to tell. She hastily added, “But she’s not a square, I promise. In fact, she’s the one who showed Deacon how to dance the Twist earlier today.”

Daisy let out a sharp bark of laughter and pounded the counter in front of her. “You’re kidding me. Deacon was dancing? The Twist of all things? Oh God I wish holotape recorders still existed nowadays. Can you imagine the blackmail potential?” She headed upstairs with the laundry, still laughing throatily. 

Hob’s heart pounded, a tiny ray of hope creeping back in. “Hey Hancock, do you think Deacon was embarrassed to be dancing in general, and it had nothing to do with me?”

He patted her back sympathetically and ushered her towards the Old State House. “That’s probably it, sunshine. Now come on. Our girl’s waiting for us.”

Hob and Hancock came up the spiral staircase and saw Soosan sitting on the couch, tucking the end of the white towel around her torso. “Yoo hoo! Guess who’s the freshest, squeakiest, cleanest girl in all the land? It’s me!” She wiggled and gave them a thumbs-up. Dogmeat wagged his tail and licked her big toe. She yelped in surprise and threw a hand up to hold the towel twisted around her hair, keeping it from toppling over. 

“Now doesn’t that paint a pretty picture? A striking woman wrapped in nothing but towels, sitting here all clean? Makes me want to get you dirty all over again,” said Hancock, unable to rein in his wolfish leer. 

“You behave, or else I won’t tell you what you want to know,” said Soosan, ignoring his advances and waggling her finger at him like an elementary school teacher.

He sat next to her on the couch, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Anything you say, my queen. So, Cait here refused to spill any juicy details. She said they should come from you – accuracy and whatnot.”

Soosan sighed, “Yes, there’s so much to explain. But first, you should know that the main reason we traveled here to find you is because I’m searching for my sister Nahid. I recently learned that she’s alive, likely living as a ghoul. Given your, um, status I was hoping you might be able to point me in the right direction.”

Hancock glanced briefly at Hob, raising a brow. “You’re saying your sister’s a ghoul, but you’re not? How the hell did that happen?”

Soosan chuckled, “Hence the story. It’s going to be a long one, so buckle up.”

Hancock patted different pockets of his red frock coat until he found the right one. “This sounds like heavy conversation, the kind that merits Berry Mentats.” He popped a couple and put the box on the coffee table for easy access. “All right sister, lay it on me.” Hancock propped his feet up on the table, crossing one ankle over the other, and gave Soosan his full attention.

While Soosan talked, Hob ambled slowly, like a character from a Jane Austen novel taking a turn around the room. She stopped occasionally to peer out the northern second-story window, observing the movements of the drifters below. She was reminded of descending the elevator in The Institute and seeing the residents bustling here and there like ants. Hob realized with a start that she hadn’t even thought about The Institute for a couple days. Something about being up here on the surface pushed aside all memories of Father, and Clayton Holdren, and Alan Binet. Soosan Calvin occupied most of her brainpower, and what was left was devoted to the enigma known as Deacon. Besides the brief encounter with Carla and asking her to change her trade route, Hob had barely considered Preston’s settlers in Sanctuary. Apparently they ranked low on her priority list. Her insides squirmed with guilt. 

Soosan hooted softly at Hob, “Psst, Earth to Cait. Come in Cait. Are you there? Over.” Hob blinked rapidly and her eyes finally focused. Soosan shook her head, smiling. “Man you sure are being a space cadet today. I asked if you remember what Scribe Haylen said right before we left the Cambridge Police Station. She wanted us to give something hell?"

“Oh, she said that about encountering any ferals, super mutants, or synths,” recalled Hob.

“Right, right. That’s the word. Hancock, what’s a synth?” 

“Soosan, don’t tell me you have a pair of virgin ears?” The mayor rose, smiling at thought of “Soosan” and “virgin” in the same sentence. He opened the metal cabinets of his kitchen area. He found a bottle of gin and pulled the cork lid off with his teeth, spitting it on the ground. He took a swig, popped a couple Berry Mentats, and washed them down with more gin while staring intently at Hob. He sat down next to Soosan, closer than before, and put his arm along the top of the couch behind her. “Here’s the deal sister. Synths look just like you and me, only they didn’t get made through sexy fun times, which is a damn shame. They were created and built by The Institute. Some of the older ones are basically robots. But the newer models? Your own mother couldn’t tell the difference between you and a synthetic replica of you.”

Soosan frowned. “The Institute of what? Like the Commonwealth Institute of Technology?”

“Most likely,” replied Hancock. “The popular theory is that a bunch of pre-war C.I.T. eggheads survived the bombs and hid somewhere in Boston to continue their research. As time went on their experiments got more and more disturbing. When you’re not tethered to reality, or pesky things like morality, any action can seem permissible.” 

“That’s got Vault-Tec written all over it. I bet The Institute is based out of a vault and is run by vault scientists. They’re lurking beneath us, finding creative ways to fuck with regular people,” said Soosan in aggravation. As she spoke she jerked her head, causing her wet towel to come undone. She tossed it aside and began angrily crunching up her hair to preserve the curls. 

Hancock took off his tricorner hat and rubbed his bald head while watching Soosan play with her hair. He hadn’t seen someone with such long hair since he lived in Diamond City. “I dunno. Maybe. Vault 81 is located on the other side of the Chestnut Hillock Reservoir. It’s a regular stop on a couple trade routes. Sure, the vault dwellers mostly keep to themselves, but those that come out to trade are pretty normal from what we can tell. No feet growing out of the top of their heads, or X-ray vision, or anything like that.”

Soosan leaned back against the couch, resting her neck on Hancock’s forearm, and stretched out a section of curls. She checked for gray hairs while thinking about this new information. “Caitie-poo, what do you think?”

Between the skin-on-skin contact with Soosan, and the possibility of inside knowledge of The Institute, Hancock was unable to keep the excitement off his face. “Yeah Caitie-poo, I’m curious to know what you think about this whole synth thing. Any special insights?”

Hob sighed and stopped pacing the room. She chose her words carefully to dodge the ghoul’s intent. “Not really. Soosan should’ve asked Deacon while he was here.” She looked at Soosan to monitor her reaction about synths. “You see, he works for this synth liberation organization called the Railroad. They believe synths can think, feel, and dream, and therefore have the same rights as human beings. The Railroad fundamentally opposes slavery and has labeled The Institute as the synths’ tyrannical master.” She sat down on the other couch, directly across from Hancock. Hob absentmindedly picked fuzz off the furniture, reflecting on how sweet Deacon had been when he learned she was a synth.

“Holy shit,” exclaimed Soosan. “I would’ve never thought of that. Synths are innocent, enslaved people. Guess they came into being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” interjected Hancock, disappointed that Hob deflected by talking about the Railroad. “There’s a reason everyone’s terrified of Institute synths – the ones we’ve discovered have been exact replacements for real people. Meaning something happened to those real people for them to get replaced, and I’m guessing they weren’t whisked away on any tropical vacations,” he said, moving a finger across his throat, miming decapitation. “So that’s why me and mine gotta stay extra special close to one another. Any slight change might be a clue that someone’s been replaced.”

“Jesus Christ. But why? Why does The Institute replace people? What is the point in that?” asked Soosan, grappling with the bizarre new world she lived in.

“Hell if I know. Mess with people’s heads? Control us from the shadows? Or maybe they do it just because they can. No one knows where The Institute is, what kind of people they are, or why they’ve decided to engineer their own slaves, but there you have it.” He looked at Hob, catching her eye before continuing, “Just to be clear, everyone’s welcome in Goodneighbor. I don’t care if you’re a synth, ghoul, or even a super mutant – so long as you play nice. And lemme tell ya, synths still under The Institute’s control don’t play nice.” 

Hob took the bait. “Well, I’m sure some of them do play nice. After all, if every synth was irredeemably wicked, then Deacon’s organization wouldn’t bother saving any of them. A synthetic brain is basically a computer, and a computer’s programming can be altered. A synth is not inherently good or evil; it merely follows its programming, and therefore the morality of its actions can be attributed solely to its creator.” She said, raising her eyebrow at Hancock.

Fahr knocked on the open door. “Hey, I thought you heard me coming upstairs. I have some clean laundry to deliver, m’lord,” she said, sassing the mayor.

Hancock motioned her into the room. “Soosan, Cait – I’d like to introduce you to my beautiful daughter Fahrenheit. God help us all if humans only acted the way their creators intended. Thankfully, she exceeds me in every capacity, especially intellect.”

Fahr narrowed her eyes. “Why are you buttering me up?” she asked, dropping the bundle of laundry on the couch next to Soosan and crossing her arms.

The ghoul laughed. “I’m not. Honest. Sometimes a father just needs to tell his daughter how proud he is of her.” Hancock turned to Soosan and stage whispered, “Between you and me, Fahr is the one running Goodneighbor. I’m a figurehead. I’m like the Queen of England, if the queen filled her free time by stabbing bald dickheads in urine-soaked courtyards.”

Soosan slapped his arm jovially, laughing and exaggerating her confusion. “I don’t understand. If Fahrenheit has brains, and clearly she’s got beauty, then how could she be related to you?”

Fahr snorted loudly. “I like her. Good night – dad,” she said, emphasizing the last word. She headed downstairs with a bit more spring in her step.

Hob piped up, “Wait, Soosan is right. How can Fahrenheit be related to you? I thought extreme radiation caused reproductive difficulties.”

“I didn’t always sport this sexy, king of the zombies countenance. Don’t get me wrong, I like my appearance. And my partners over the years definitely haven’t complained. But I was born with skin as smooth as yours. About a decade ago, I was one hell of a risk-taker. I went on these wild tears, inhaling or swallowing any chems I could find. The more exotic the better. I figured, I’ve only got one life – why not try it all? One day I was wandering south through the ruins of Boston and ended up at this hospital. I came across an experimental radiation drug called ‘Extend’. There was only one hit left. I swallowed it all and washed it down with a bottle of vodka. The high was so worth it. Like getting a blow job from heaven itself.” His eyes glossed over with nostalgia and he shivered a little.

Soosan was horrified. She scooted closer to Hancock and held his hand tenderly. “You could have died.”

He brought himself out of his memories and blinked at her. “Do I look like someone who fears death?” he said, more coldly than he intended. 

Hob added, “Soosan, wastelanders die violently every day, remember? Death is not as big a deal as it would be to a pre-war person. Besides, ghouls are functionally immortal.”

Hancock scowled, “Ugh don’t remind me. I get to watch while everyone I know dies, until eventually I’m the last man standing. Oh happy day.”

Soosan scowled back at him. “Gee, I wonder what that would be like.” 

He clapped a hand over his mouth. “I apologize. I’ve literally never had a non-ghoul match me at that game.” Hancock cleared his throat, embarrassed. “Anyway, this whole topic of conversation brings us back to your sister Nahid. You wanted me to point you to her, or at least in the right direction. But since I’ve only been a ghoul for ten years, I’m not as connected to the wider community as you might’ve hoped. They’re welcome here, but it’s not like we have Ghouls Anonymous meetings or anything.”

Soosan’s face fell. “Oh, of course. That makes sense.” She wiped tears away. “I don’t mean to get all emotional. I just really thought we’d come here and you could tell me exactly where my sissy is. It’s stupid for me to think I could leave the vault and everything would fall into place as if by design. The apocalypse killed perfection I guess.”

“Well now don’t go getting your panties all in a twist.” He glanced at the pile of laundry. “Oops, I guess you aren’t wearing any panties.” Soosan smacked his arm so hard her palm stung. “Ouch! Fuck. You sure do pack a punch. I deserved that. What I mean to say is that I can still point you in the right direction. My pal Nick Valentine is a detective. The best in the biz. The only one in the biz. Nicky’s good people.”

“Oh thank you Mayor Hancock, thank you! That’s all I needed. Let’s go meet this Nick Valentine as soon as possible, right now even.”

“Whoa, sister, hold your horses. Nicky’s based out of Diamond City, and that lard-head Mayor McDonough has banned all ghouls. I should stay here. Besides, it’s the middle of the night and you’re wearing a towel. You gotta wait til morning, sweetness. And even then, you probably shouldn’t go alone.”

Soosan and Hob exchanged a significant look. “Oh are you serious? I need to go to Diamond City? The great green fucking jewel of the Commonwealth? That’s the last time I ignore a Mama Murphy vision,” said Soosan, thumping her bare leg with her fist. 

Hob shook her head slightly. “I don’t understand this whole ‘Sight’ thing, but that is pretty spooky. I must’ve underestimated her psyker abilities.”

Hancock laughed, “I dunno man. Even a broken clock’s right twice a day. It’s not exactly rocket science to start looking for someone in the biggest town in the Commonwealth.”

Soosan impatiently bounced up and down on the couch. “God I really want to go right now.”

Hancock stood up and lit a cigarette, watching Soosan bounce. “I love the enthusiasm, sexy. But you need sleep. You two can take my bed tonight. The dog and I will be out here, and the neighborhood watch is in the building. Lock the door anyway. In the morning, and by morning I mean any time after noon, we’ll start making the arrangements, okay?”

Soosan picked up her clean clothes and smiled broadly at the mayor. She kissed his cheek, feeling the dips and grooves of ghoul skin for the first time. “You’re a good man, John Hancock.”

He tittered and fanned himself at the electric sensation of her soft lips. “All right, bedtime you two troublemakers.”


	47. The Memory Den, Revisited

In Hancock’s bedroom, Soosan searched through the bag of laundry for her underwear and tank top. She threw the towel on the bed and got dressed. “Tonight I have the luxury of sleeping without a bra! Caitie, please mark this momentous occasion.”

As Soosan pulled her shirt on, Hob noticed black lines on her skin. “Hey Soosan, what is that?”

“What’s what?”

“Right there, on the left side of your rib cage. Is that some sort of picture?”

Soosan pulled up her tank top. “Oh this? It’s a tattoo. Do people not get those anymore?” Hob shrugged, causing Soosan to laugh. "Pre-war stuff. It’s a bit ridiculous when I explain it. You take a vibrating needle and dip it in ink to draw a long-lasting design on your skin. The whole process feels like rubbing an angry hornet’s nest into your bones, but as long as the end result looks badass, that’s all that matters.”

Hob bent down to get a better look. “Is that a lion?”

Soosan nodded proudly. “Yup. The Lion and Sun is the main symbol of Persia. But it has a double significance for me because my family name ‘Shirdel’ actually means ‘lionheart’. See right there, at the bottom of the lion’s mane? I had the tattoo artist incorporate a little heart.” She traced the heart shape with her index finger. “Remember how I told you that me helping Nahid get a divorce caused a family rift? I got this right after all that went down. It was impulsive but I just needed to feel permanently Persian. Nahid came with me to the tattoo appointment and held my hand. Well, she tried to hold my hand but I nearly squeezed her fingers off. Rib designs are notoriously painful.”

Hob felt the lion with her thumb. “Can you feel this?”

Soosan snorted at the tickling sensation. “I mean, I can feel you touching me, but the tattoo is literally part of my skin. It healed well so it isn’t raised up like a scar. I’m sure the wasteland will bestow plenty of scars on me, but for now the stimpaks seem to be doing their job.”

Hob pulled back the sheets on Hancock’s bed. She noticed several stains and decided she’d rather not know their origins. She sank into the mattress but reached out and touched Soosan’s lion again. “I want one. A tattoo. I don’t know what I’d get or why, but for some reason I want one. I wonder who does tattoos nowadays.”

Soosan sat down next to her. “You’d know better than I would. Or maybe Nahid could tell us when we find her. If she’s still working as a doctor she’s probably seen some botched, at-home tattoo jobs.”

Hob slapped her forehead. “Oh of course. I’m so silly. I bet Doc Crocker does tattoos.”

“Who’s that?”

“He works at a place called Mega Surgery Center in Diamond City. Deacon told me that Doc Crocker does all his face swaps.”

Soosan spluttered in shock. “What are you talking about? Face swaps? Do you mean that’s not what Deacon really looks like?”

Hob shrugged, wondering for the first time what Deacon originally looked like. She realized that like her, Deacon engaged in his own vesture system. “I suppose so. Who knows what his unaltered appearance is. He even said that twelve years ago Doc Crocker performed surgery that made him look like a ghoul. He only kept that form for a month because apparently it freaked out a lot of people.”

“The city of Boston is reduced to rubble and there are mutant creatures everywhere, but modern doctors decide to spend their time changing people’s faces, willy nilly? What the hell? Everyone’s priorities are all mixed up.” Soosan huffed and got under the covers. “We definitely weren’t perfect in 2077, but at least we devoted resources toward trash removal and running water.” She moved over towards the wall. “Come cuddle next to me Caitie-girl. I’m cold.”

A few hours later, Soosan’s bladder woke her up. She flopped her head over on the pillow and looked at Hob, whose eyes were closed in a convincing imitation of human sleep. Soosan carefully climbed over her and got out of bed. She unlocked the bedroom door and tiptoed to the bathroom. The wood floor of the Old State House creaked loudly.

“Soosan?”

She squinted. A few rays of early morning light illuminated a figure sitting on the ratty couch. “De- Deacon?” She padded softly around the spiral staircase. “What are you doing here? I thought you had business to take care of? Something so urgent you had to abandon us and flee Goodneighbor?”

“He had a task to complete for me,” said Hancock, typing on his terminal. He tore his eyes away from the screen and saw the outline of Soosan’s nipples through her skimpy undershirt. “Ah Jesus. You’re gonna poke an eye out with those things!” He took off his red coat and gave it to her. “At least put this on. Right now I need my blood to stay in my brain.” He forced himself to turn back to the screen and kept typing.

She put his coat on and wrapped it around herself, causing various bottles and syringes in the pockets to clink against each other. Soosan sat down on the couch next to Deacon, frowning at him. “Take your sunglasses off. I want to see your real eyes.”

He shifted away from her. “Nah I’m good. Thank you for asking.”

Soosan reached out to yank them off his face, but he grabbed her wrist. “Ah, ah, ah. Manners,” he said firmly, letting go of her. “And don’t think I didn’t see that coming.”

She leaned back against the couch and crossed her arms, pouting. “What is it about you?” she asked. “Why do you drive me insane? I feel like you’re always two seconds away from pulling my pigtails on the playground and running off.” 

Deacon smiled. “Where’s Cait?”

“Sleeping. Don’t change the subject.”

“I’m not. She is the subject. There are a lot of things you don’t know about your wasteland bestie over there. Cait says she’s a scavver. How do you know that’s true? Hancock said he told you all about how The Institute replaces people with synths. Maybe she’s a dangerous synth sent to spy on you.” He grinned evilly.

Hancock got up from his chair and squeezed Deacon’s shoulder. “Hey Deeks, maybe Soosan’s a synth,” he said conspiratorially, focusing his black eyes on her. “That would be more likely than some fantastical story about being frozen when the bombs dropped.”

Soosan made an offended sound. “Whoa there, easy now. If that’s the game we’re going to play, then how do I know you two aren’t synths, hmm? One of you voluntarily became a ghoul from an experimental drug, and the other got a face swap from Doc Crocker to be a temporary ghoul. You’ve already set the precedent that you like to change your appearance radically. That’s only one step away from being a synth. Why should I trust you guys?”

Deacon chuckled, “I see Cait told you about my face swaps. I’m sure that topic of conversation came up totally organically.” He stood up from the couch. “I’m not a synth, but if you want we can go down to the Memory Den right now. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

“Oh God. The Memory Den? What is that?”

Hancock clapped. “That’s an excellent idea, Deeks. Hey Soosan, go wake up Cait. She’s gonna resist too, but fuck it. I’m the mayor, and I’ve decided we’ll be taking a little trip down to the Memory Den. Also, I’ll be needing that coat back.”

Soosan moaned, “I should’ve just ignored my bladder and stayed in bed.” She removed the red frock coat and tossed it at Hancock before storming off to his bedroom. “Cait, wake up. We have to do a thing.”

Hob opened her eyes, trying to make them seem dry and longing for sleep. She had been in a calm, almost meditative state and hadn’t heard the conversation in the other room. “What’s going on?”

“Deacon’s making us go to the Memory Den,” said Soosan, wiggling into the clean vault suit and zipping it up.

Hob sat up eagerly. “Huh? Deacon’s back?”

Soosan rolled her eyes while twisting her hair into a bun. “Yes, your lover boy is in the other room. He very nicely accused me a being a synth, so now Hancock’s making us all go to the Memory Den to prove that I am, in fact, a human being.” She sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her boots on, grumbling about how the future was bullshit.

Hob chewed her lip nervously as she got out of Hancock’s bed. “Oh God. Did he, um, accuse me of being one too?”

Soosan sighed, “Yes, but don’t worry. I basically told him and Hancock to fuck off since they also look different now than they used to. Let’s just humor them. Dogmeat, buddy, you can stay here.” He laid back down, whining.

They met Hancock and Deacon at the top of the stairs. The last time Hob was in this situation Hancock had a pistol digging into her back. This time, the pistol felt metaphorical. She made eye contact with Deacon but kept her lips tightly pursed. Hob descended the stairs without a word.

“Aw, kitten. Don’t be mad.” Deacon followed her out the door of the Old State House, grabbing ahold of her arm. “It’s nothing personal. I did have some work to do. Honest. There’s someone who wants to meet you. I’m trying to put bigger plans in motion for us, but it wouldn’t be prudent to keep traveling together without first checking to see if Soosan is a synth. The way this world works, that’s always a possibility.”

“How would you even be able to tell if I’m a synth?” asked Soosan, watching Deacon’s body language as he interacted with Hob. “None of you actually know what the pre-war world was like. You could sift through my memories all you want, but there’s no way to independently fact check my experiences.”

“You make an excellent point, beautiful. Let me go grab Daisy. She can fill that role for us,” said Hancock, doubling back.

The trio passed under a large sign for Scollay Square. Inside the Memory Den, Soosan inspected the nearest memory lounger. A small ghoul in a tattered suit occupied the pod, his eyes closed. She recognized a storyline from the Unstoppables flashing across the screen inside his pod. “Holy shit. This guy’s memories are of a comic book series.”

“Poor Kent. He has a lot of trauma to work through. The memory loungers aren’t for everyone. Some people choose to torment themselves by endlessly reliving the past instead of finding ways to move on.” Deacon stared at Kent, patting the glass hatch sadly. “Let me go wake up Doctor Amari. Cait, darling, you know where to go.”

Hob gave him a surly look and motioned Soosan down the stairs to the room with turquoise consoles. She gestured to the pod on the left. “You can sit in there. You’ll have to press your head against the neural assembly at the back for it to work.”

Soosan settled in and got comfortable. “Hey Caitie-girl, what sort of memories should I start conjuring up? I wouldn’t mind reliving my wedding. Dougie and I did our first dance to ‘Unforgettable’ by Nat King Cole.” She sighed dreamily. “It was like a fairytale.”

Hob’s eyes glossed over, recalling how for a few moments dancing with Deacon felt magical. “That sounds beautiful.”

Soosan laughed wickedly. “Actually, maybe we should watch my wedding night instead. Caitie, it was legendary. Dougie and I went wild. I bet we could even make Hancock blush,” she giggled, counting on her fingers the number of different places she had Doug christened their house.

“Oh goodness,” said Hob, slightly embarrassed that Deacon stuck in her imagination when she thought of Soosan’s wedding night.

Deacon, Amari, Hancock, and Daisy entered the basement room. Doctor Amari noticed Soosan’s vault suit, and then eyed Hob. “Deacon has explained the situation to me. Miss Cait, it’s nice to see you again. I hope you’re doing better than last time. Miss Soosan, my name is Doctor Amari. I’m the memory lounger technician. You’re already in the proper position, so thank you for your cooperation.” She closed the pod hatch. “Take a deep breath. What I’d like you to do is think back and search for the earliest memory you can recall.”

“The earliest?” asked Soosan, frowning.

“Yes. This may be from your childhood, or some other point in your life. My terminal will capture your memory in order to review it.”

Soosan closed her eyes, and they moved from side to side as her brain traveled from Goodneighbor back to the vault, from her house before the bombs to the Shirdels’ first house in Salem, from the Boston airport back to Tehran. People’s faces whizzed by until her grandfather’s loomed largest. 

Doctor Amari clacked away on her keyboard terminal. “Perfect. We’ve captured a very clear memory. The sound levels look good. Deacon, can you help her out of the pod? Miss Soosan you may come over here to my terminal to watch the recording. Daisy, can you see?”

“All good, hon,” said Daisy, leaning forward to get a good view.

“Very well. Here is the recording.”

A child skittered around a corner into a small but clean kitchen. She tugged on a man’s linen pants. A wrinkled face peered down at her, breaking into a smile. She reached up, pointing at the kitchen counter. “Armin Joon, Armin Joon! I want some.”

“What would you like, my flower?” said the old man, his hands red with juice.

“Poms please!” said young Soosan, jumping up to see the bowl of pomegranate seeds. “Poms!”

He washed off his hands and patted the top of her head. “Of course darling. As long as you share with your sissy.” He handed her the white bowl, decorated with blue geometric designs. “Walk, please.”

Little Soosan grabbed the bowl with both hands, toddling as she took it carefully to Nahid. As she bent her knees to set it down, the ceramic bowl slipped out of her hands and shattered on the floor. She began crying and picked up an embroidered pillow, holding it in front of her face.

Soosan’s grandfather came over with a trash can and picked up the shards. “Careful Soosan! I don’t want you or Nahid to get hurt.”

She peeked over the pillow, sniffling. “I’m sorry, Armin Joon. I’m sorry. Are you mad?”

“Of course not, my flower. Accidents happen all the time. But when they do, we must try our best to fix the problem.” He scooped her up in a hug, kissing her cheek.

“That tickles!” she giggled, tugging on his gray whiskers.

The terminal flickered and went black. Soosan wiped away her tears, but they kept falling. Daisy also dabbed at her eyes and cleared her throat. “That was beautiful, Soosan. Thank you for sharing that with us. I’d say you’re a bona fide pre-war gal. I haven’t thought about pomegranates since before the bombs.”

“So you’re not a synth after all,” said Hancock, placing a hand on the small of Soosan’s back and guiding her to the couch. “Well that’s a relief. Where did that memory occur? Was that guy your father?”

She sat down, wiping her nose on the side of her sleeve. “That was our house in Iran, right before we fled. I think I was five years old or so. The European Commonwealth-Middle East War had already been going on for a couple years. The old man in my memory was my grandfather. My Baba tried to get him to come to Boston with us, but Armin Joon refused. He said he was born in Tehran and he would die in Tehran. He passed away before we had made all the arrangements to leave the country. At least he didn’t die alone, his family halfway across the globe.”

“Oh God, that awful mess,” said Daisy, sitting next to Soosan on the couch. “I’m a fair bit older than you, so you may not have known how the war in the Middle East caused the vault building spree here in the U.S. The atomic paranoia really started to ramp up in the 2050s. I’m so sorry your family had to flee.” She wrapped Soosan in a tight hug. “And I really hope you’re able to find your sister. Let me know what I can do to help out.”

Soosan swallowed a sob and returned the squeeze. “Thank you Daisy. I haven’t gotten a mom hug like that in over 200 years. So Mayor Hancock, Deacon, I’ve adequately demonstrated that I’m not some synth spy. I’m getting kind of antsy. I’d like to head to Diamond City to meet Nick Valentine.”

Deacon took a step toward the door, reneging on his earlier offer to show Soosan that he wasn’t a synth. “I’ve got more work to do for the Railroad, but like I said before I will be around if you need me. I promise.” 

“Go on, leave again. It’s what you’re best at. I think we’ll be just fine without you,” retorted Hob suddenly, glaring at him.

He sighed wearily and looked over his shoulder, disappointed. “Seriously Cait? Everybody’s gotta grow up sometime.” He left, unintentionally slamming the door behind him.

Hancock rubbed his temples. “Yikes. Kinda wish I wasn’t here for that. Anyway, I think the sun’s up by now. We should head for the Third Rail. I’d feel more comfortable if Mac accompanied you to Diamond City.”


	48. Friendship Heights

Ham was sitting in a high-backed chair, idly flipping through a Live & Love magazine. “Bathroom’s over there, to the right,” he said gruffly.

“Thanks! I never got to pee earlier because somebody wanted to poke around my brain first. Cait and Hancock, can I meet you downstairs?”

“Sure thing, gorgeous. Mac’s in the VIP room in the back,” said Hancock, leading Hob down the concrete stairs. Their footsteps echoed loudly in the empty bar. “Papa’s thirsty. What’s your poison?”

“Believe it or not, I’ve never actually consumed alcohol before.” Hob smiled weakly.

“No shit! Hey Charlie, can you make us a couple dirty wastelander cocktails? Extra dirty,” said Hancock, waggling his brows at Hob. “Actually, make it three. That’s Mac’s usual. The kid won’t mind being woken up as long as it’s worth his while.” He slid off his barstool and poked his head into the VIP room.

Whitechapel Charlie whipped up the drinks and placed them on the bar. All three eyes focused on Hob. “You look familiar. Ain’t you one of them lasses what works at the Combat Zone? What’s your name, love? Cait, innit?”

“Umm, what? Are you thinking of someone else?” stammered Hob, trying to remember her last interaction with human Cait.

MacCready appeared at her side, grabbing his drink off the bar and taking a long sip while examining her profile. His watchful gaze caused her heart to beat faster. “Yeah, I think Charlie’s right. You’re a fighter at the Combat Zone. You’re the master at pummeling the sh- stuff out of those raiders,” he said appreciatively, slapping Hob on the back. “Quite the entertainer.”

“Caitie-girl what are they talking about?” asked Soosan, who had silently descended the stairs and snuck up on everyone. “What’s the Combat Zone?”

Hob sighed. “It’s aptly named. I worked for this guy Tommy doing…combat,” she said shakily. She couldn’t remember the real Cait saying anything more specific about the Combat Zone. “But those days are over, just like my chem addiction. Scavving may be less exciting but it is more respectable.”

“Hardly,” said MacCready, motioning for Whitechapel Charlie to mix him another cocktail. “But whatever blows your skirt up. Besides, we have more pressing matters, like getting to know this stunner over here.” He turned and leaned casually on the bar. “Hey knockout. What’s your name? What’s your story?”

“Soosan Calvin, widow.” She smiled and extended her hand.

Her comment took the wind out of his sails. He looked down for a moment, ashamed, before shaking her hand. “R.J. MacCready, widower,” he croaked.

“Nice to meet you R.J. I hear you’re a mercenary. Can we head into the other room to discuss the job requirements? Just the two of us for now, I think,” she said, shaking her head slightly at Hancock and Hob.

He drained his second drink and set the glass down on the bar. “After you.”

In the VIP room, Mac sat down at the far end of the red couch. Soosan stood, staring at his hands while lost in thought. “How long were you married R.J.?”

“About five years. Why?”

“Did your spouse ever ask for a foot massage?”

He laughed knowingly. “Yes she did. Come on then.” He patted the couch cushion.

Soosan sat down and shucked her boots and socks off. She put her feet on MacCready’s lap and wiggled her toes. “Don’t worry, I just took a bath a few hours ago. I’m as fresh as a daisy. And my clothes are clean thanks to Daisy. Double daisy!” she laughed. He held one foot and used his thumb to apply even pressure to the arch of her foot. She purred happily. “Thank you honey. I’m not used to walking such long distances. When I tell you my sob story you’ll understand why I needed this. But first, tell me about your wife. What was she like?”

He took his hat off and ruffled his hair. He paused for a moment before continuing to massage Soosan’s feet. “My sweet Lucy. I don’t know if I can describe her without getting all emotional. She kind of looked like you, actually.” Mac made eye contact with Soosan for a moment. He couldn’t help but smile at her big brown eyes before resuming his story. “Luce and I grew up together in a place called Little Lamplight in the Capital Wasteland. It was a pretty unusual home – a cave system where only kids could be residents. When you turned sixteen you were officially an adult and got the ceremonial boot. Most of us moved from there to a place called Big Town. Some others headed south to Rivet City.”

“Wow. So you’ve been an adult your whole life, basically. You must be mature for your age.”

MacCready laughed humbly. “Many would disagree, but you could say that. It gets better because I picked up a sniper rifle at age ten. I always thought it was smarter to hit my targets from a long range. My skills helped me become the mayor of Little Lamplight. I overthrew this brat named Princess who tried to set up a dictatorship of sorts.”

“My goodness. Between you and Hancock it seems I’ve surrounded myself with political dignitaries.”

“I’m not sure which one of us has dealt with more crybabies,” he said, chuckling. “Anyway, Lucy was a year younger than me. One of the older girls, Red, had taught her how to practice medicine. It paid off when there was this cave-in. I got a pretty nasty concussion and Lucy saved me. Ever since that moment I fell hopelessly in love with her. She was the only thing I could think about. After I got kicked out of Little Lamplight, I bided my time for a year, waiting for her to turn sixteen. We got married the moment she set foot out of that cave. Our son Duncan was born nine months and ten minutes later.” A wistful look passed over his eyes. 

“You have a child? Where is he?” asked Soosan, removing her feet from MacCready’s lap and scooching closer to him on the couch. 

“Ah, well, he’s back in the Capital Wasteland, in Little Lamplight. At least I know he’s safe from harm there, but he’s, um, afflicted with this strange sickness. No one knows what it is exactly. One day he’s fine, the next he got a fever and these blue boils popped up all over his body. Through Lucy’s medical connections, she heard of a pre-war experimental drug located at a hospital here in the Commonwealth. We were traveling up here to find it when we got ambushed in the very last metro station out of the Capital Wasteland. All these ferals emerged from the shadows and – ” he broke off and struggled to swallow. “Events transpired and now I’m a widower.”

Soosan’s eyes were filled with tears. She held Mac’s face in her hands and shared the sorrow in his blue eyes for a moment before hugging him tightly. “I don’t want to change the subject back to me, but R.J. you should know that I understand exactly what you’re going through. Please tell me that empty feeling eventually goes away, or at least lessens?”

He shook his head. “If you’re not careful the survivor’s guilt will overtake you and you’ll feel even worse. The Commonwealth is full of distractions, but no one else can help you when you’re trying to fall asleep and all your brain lets you see is the face of the person you loved most. Grief cancels out even the strongest chems and you end up stuck in this depression loop.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and let a couple deep sobs escape her. “R.J. I need to tell you something. My husband was murdered in front of me by these scientists who were kidnapping my nephew for some weird experiment.” Soosan began explaining what happened the day the bombs dropped and described her tale after emerging from Vault 111. 

MacCready’s eyes had gotten progressively wider as Soosan continued her story. “That’s horrible and bizarre and almost unbelievable. I mean, I do believe you of course, but by now you must know how incredible it sounds. Forgive my rudeness, but why aren’t you looking for Shayan? He’d be my top priority. If your sister’s still alive she’s probably an ace at surviving in the Commonwealth, but I couldn’t say the same for her little boy.”

“I’m basically a wasteland infant too. If we want an actual chance at saving him, I’ll need Nahid with me. Just like you, she would do anything for her kid. And hey, maybe once we find her you could ask her about Duncan’s illness. She worked at Mass Bay as a trauma doc, kinda like your Lucy. Every month she had to read medical journals to stay up to date on the latest research.”

“She sounds like a useful person to know. Lucy’s profession opened a lot of doors for us. People practically fall over themselves to make sure a doctor continues to return to their settlement.”

“Yeah, and who knows, maybe Nahid has treated someone else with the same illness as your son.”

“Hmm, I dunno about that. It seems to be, um, fatal. I get letters from the Capital Wasteland so I know Duncan’s still alive, but he’s only four years old. The last time I saw him he was almost too weak to walk. I don’t think his little body can hold out much longer. The worst part of this whole mess is how close I was to accomplishing my goal. When I finished escorting Preston’s settlers to Malden, they headed on to Lexington with Fahrenheit and I stayed behind to find that cure in Med-Tek Research. We had just fought off a massive group of feral ghouls, so I felt reasonably confident that Med-Tek would be empty, or have minimal problems. But I was wrong. The whole hospital is crawling with ferals. In an instant it was like I was transported back to that metro station in Friendship Heights. My throat closed up. I couldn’t breathe. I honestly thought my heart was giving out on me.” His face went pale from merely describing his harrowing experiences to Soosan. 

She held his hand, rubbing the top of it. “R.J., you must have had a panic attack. I had one of those earlier when trying to give the details of my husband’s murder to Preston and everyone else. Jesus,” said Soosan sympathetically. “I could barely get through that ordeal with a group of friendly faces surrounding me, let alone snarling feral ghouls.”

Mac shakily wiped beads of sweat off his forehead. “I don’t even know how I got out of there or how long I was sitting out in front of the building. Eventually Fahr passed through Malden on her way back from Lexington. She had to snap me out of it and chaperone me back to Goodneighbor. It’s unbelievably frustrating! I was so close to getting that medicine for Duncan and I choked. Like some amateur.”

Soosan thought for a moment, and then took MacCready’s other hand. “Let’s go back.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Let’s go back to Med-Tek. Nahid is a big girl. She’s survived 200 years without me. I can wait a couple days before heading to Diamond City to employ the services of Nick Valentine. Finding this cure and getting it to your son is more important, by far. Come on R.J., get up. We gotta go!” She stood, pulling Mac to his feet and swinging his arms. He followed her into the main area of the bar, genially confused at this turn of events.

“Hello lovebirds,” said Hancock, hiding his jealousy by winking at MacCready. “You two were in there for an awfully long time.”

“I’m doing it, Hancock,” said the merc, “for real this time. No more screw-ups.”

Hancock looked at Soosan, a question mark etched on his face. “I thought you went in there to hire Mac, not the other way around.”

“Wait, what’s going on?” asked Hob. She was tipsy from the dirty wastelander cocktail and had been talking Hancock’s ear off about Deacon.

Soosan straightened her shoulders. “R.J.’s little boy is ill. The experimental drug that might cure him is located somewhere in Med-Tek Research. A sick kid takes priority over a ghoulified sister,” she said firmly. She motioned for Mac to follow her up the stairs. “This is not a drill. C’mon you guys, there’s no time to waste! Mayor Hancock, you are most welcome to assist us, but I understand if you are required to stay here.”

He finished his drink and slid the glass back to Charlie. “Required? Nah, sister. I do as I please. Besides, I was getting a bit of cabin fever anyway. I’ll join this little scavenger hunt.” The mayor sauntered up the stairs behind everyone else. “Gotta let Fahr know what’s going on. She’ll probably be glad to get rid of me for a couple days.”


	49. Crab Dinner

“I can’t believe that obelisk survived,” remarked Soosan, craning her neck up and blocking the sunlight with her hand. “The bombs blew out the glass in the picture frames in my house, but that enormous spindly thing is A-OK.” 

“Pfff. The monument here is a joke compared to the one in downtown Washington D.C.,” said MacCready dismissively.

“I’ve never been, but I think you’re right,” said Soosan. She adjusted her suit jacket sleeves and followed Hancock and MacCready through the Bunker Hill gate and past an oxidized bronze statue. 

“Mayor Hancock! What a pleasant surprise. We were just about to send a courier to Goodneighbor. Finch Farm’s mutfruit supply arrived earlier today. It’s less than we expected, so the price per pound is higher. We need your signature on some papers,” said Kessler. 

Hancock waved his hand. “It’s all good, sister.” He turned to Soosan, Hob, and MacCready. “Sorry guys. Work never ends. Can you sit tight for five minutes?”

“No problem. We might go check out what those vendors are selling,” said Soosan. “Come on Dogmeat. Let’s go, buddy.” The group headed into the marketplace. A gaunt woman wearing a yellow hood over her head gestured them over to her counter. “Hi there,” said Soosan pleasantly. “What kind of stuff do you sell?”

“Name’s Cricket,” replied the woman in a frenzied, strung-out manner. “If it can chamber, cock, and spit out lead, then I sell it. I’ve also got slashers and clobberers too, for those maniacs that like it up close.”

Soosan tilted her head to the side. “I think I’m one of the latter – a maniac that likes it up close. Right now this is what I’m working with.” She held up the barbed wire bat and Cricket took it for inspection.

“That’s not bad, to be sure,” said Cricket, cradling the bat like a newborn baby and touching the barbed wire gently. She poked her index finger into the barb until it drew blood and shuddered with pleasure. “But I got something even sweeter here. This little beauty is called the Ripper. The blade-chainsaw combo makes it fast and deadly,” she said reverently. A shiver went up and down her spine. “It’s beautiful.”

Soosan laughed. “You are one hell of a saleswoman Cricket. All right. I’ll add that to my figurative shopping cart. Anything else you want to show me?”

The trader rummaged through a crate on the floor. “Unless you’re interested in some super mutant gauntlets that someone brought in from Cambridge, I think the Ripper is the only thing I’ve got for you. I’ll take off 30 caps and throw in some flamer fuel for free if you trade in the bat.”

“Turn around Caitie-girl so I can get into that pack.” Soosan dug to the bottom of the bag for the small sack of caps. “Hey, you know what I just remembered? Deacon said he’d explain what super mutants were, and he left before making good on his promise.”

Cricket’s bloodshot eyes went wide as she took the caps. “Lady, you don’t know what a super mutant is? Either you were born yesterday or you’ve tried chems I’ve only dreamed of. If it’s the chems then it’s only polite to tell me where I can get my hands on some.”

“Kind of the first option. I was frozen in a vault and just woke up. We snuck past some super mutants last night but I didn’t get a good look at any of them. Only heard their conversation.”

Mac interrupted, “Super mutants are these giant green lunatics. One time down by Milton General Hospital I saw one rip the limbs off someone who was still alive. Luckily the brute didn’t notice me. I slipped away right as it was killed, caught in the blast of one of its suiciders. But super mutants don’t scare me. I’ve been fighting them since I was a kid.” He straightened his back, puffing his chest a little.

Soosan wrinkled her nose. “That sounds horrible. I can’t believe that’s what children deal with nowadays.”

Hob added, “Well, the saddest part about today’s super mutants is that they used to be regular humans. But they had the misfortune of being captured by The Institute and injected with the Forced Evolutionary Virus. The scientists experimented on regular people before they could make synths. The rejects get dumped, and that’s why there are super mutants everywhere.”

“Jesus Christ!” exclaimed Soosan, gesturing with the Ripper a little too close to Hob’s face. “So maybe The Institute killed Doug and kidnapped my nephew in order to conduct these kinds of appalling experiments? Holy God. That is sickening.”

MacCready narrowed his eyes. “Cait, why do you know that?”

“Oh, um, I guess it’s mostly just hearsay,” she said, putting her hands in her pockets and mentally berating herself for letting that sort of inside information slip out. “Things you hear on the road. Also, I read this newspaper article about synths called The Synthetic Truth. It was written by a woman named Piper for a newspaper called Publick Occurrences.”

“Believe me, I know all about Piper Wright,” said Mac, clenching his fists. “She turns things into a much bigger deal than necessary. Piper has singlehandedly turned Diamond City into a haven for paranoid anti-synth nut jobs. When I first came to the Commonwealth, I made a name for myself as an eagle-eyed sniper. All the wastelanders who saw my handy work recommended I head to Diamond City to find more jobs, but it was impossible because the residents were so suspicious of outsiders. Piper’s one of the reasons why I had to turn to the Gunners for caps. And even then I still never made enough money to hire someone to help me with Med-Tek,” he said peevishly, sitting down on a nearby stool and huffing.

“Hey kids, having fun?” said Hancock, moseying up to them. “Wow, Soosan, is that a Ripper? That’s quite the sight. You oughta warn a man before you grip something so big in your hands. Sure you’re ready for that sort of up and close and personal bloodshed?”

She clenched her jaw in determination. “Absolutely. Thank you for this Cricket. I think this weapon is just what the doctor ordered.”

“Enjoy,” said Cricket, grinning nastily. She watched the group leave the marketplace, a gummy smile plastered to her face. The moment they were out of sight she dipped below the counter and pulled out a scrap of paper. She frantically scribbled down everything she could remember from their conversation. 

A few hours later, the group stopped to make camp for the night at the Poseidon Energy Turbine on the other side of the Mystic River. “I’m glad you had a chance to try out the Ripper on those raiders lounging around in front of the BADTFL office,” said Mac, lighting a cigarette. “Fewer raiders in this world makes me a happy boy.”

Soosan braided her long hair and twisted it into a chignon at the nape of her neck. “I’m still all sweaty from the fighting, but man I love that thing. It makes me feel like I can take on the world. ‘Ripper’ is awesome by itself, but I might have to give it a badass nickname. What do you think Cait?”

Hob had just come around a corner, returning from the flooded section of the turbine. She carried a metal bucket full of a couple canisters of Jet, some Nuka Cherries, a tube of toothpaste, and a container of baking soda. “First your motorcycle, now this thing. You sure do love your nicknames. What about calling it ‘Lionheart’, like your tattoo?”

Hancock hooted with excitement. “No kidding? Fancy pre-war Soosan has a fancy pre-war tattoo? Well come on then. Where is it? Let’s see it.”

She put a hand on her hip and cocked her head at him. “I don’t know if you’ve been good enough Mister Mayor. I’m still mad that you dragged me to the Memory Den to see if I was a synth. It would have been nice if you believed me when I said I wasn’t.”

The ghoul picked up one of the Jet canisters from the metal bucket and took a puff before stuffing it in his pocket. He clasped his hands together and fell to his knees in front of her. “Please baby? I’ll be good. I promise,” he said, inching closer and staring up at her lasciviously.

“Shh, I think I hear something,” said MacCready suddenly. He held up a hand, and everyone fell silent.

Dogmeat growled softly and Hob strained her ears. “I hear it too. It sounds like vibrations.”

“What sort of creature could it be?” whispered Soosan, gripping the Ripper tightly. “Not a yao guai I hope.”

Mac readied his rifle. “No way. The movement’s happening underground. Everybody, try to – ”

Two mirelurk hunters burst forth from the ground in front of the building. Hancock cocked his shotgun and pointed it at the head of the mirelurk closest to him. “Aim for their mouth area!” he shouted, firing off two shots and jogging to the side while reloading. “Their feelers are super sensitive! They can’t figure out where to go without those!” he bellowed, bashing the mirelurk hunter’s pincers with the butt of his shotgun. Its shiny black eyes focused on him menacingly.

MacCready ran to the side of the building, trying to get far enough away for a proper sniping spot. The other mirelurk zeroed in on him, tilted its head back, and spit a long stream of acid toward the merc. He gasped in shock and fell to the ground. Dogmeat barked ferociously and tore into the mirelurk’s backmost leg, yanking it away, while Hob fired repeatedly at its leathery underbelly and shouted to get its attention off MacCready.

“R.J.!” screamed Soosan. She rushed over and saw a sinister steam of acid rising from his duster. Mac was howling in pain. She pinched the right arm of his jacket between her thumb and forefinger, carefully pulling it off him and tossing it aside. Soosan sprinted back into the building, spotted the baking soda box, and seized it. She tore back to Mac and sprinkled the baking soda over his arm and the front of his torso. The alkaline met the acid and neutralized it. The merc quieted down. Once he looked at his left arm, he began taking huge panicked breaths. 

“Stimpak, my bag,” he stuttered, laying back in agony as the chemical burn spread across his flesh.

Soosan whirled around and ran back to the building, grabbing the pack and dodging another acid stream coming from somewhere behind her. She vaguely heard Hancock laughing maniacally and taunting the giant crustaceans. “Okay R.J., I’m gonna open a can of water. Just want to wash away the remaining acid,” she said soothingly, rolling back his green sleeve. “And here’s the stimpak. You’re going to need it in several places because the burned area is fairly large.” 

“Do what you gotta,” mumbled Mac. He closed his eyes and winced slightly at each pinch of the stimpak. 

Soosan continued to pacify MacCready with calming encouragement. She watched his skin knitting together, though not as fast as she was hoping. “The fighting sounds have stopped. I think we’re okay.” She looked over at the jacket crumpled pathetically on the ground. “But I can’t say the same for your duster. I’m sorry R.J. I think it’s done for.” 

MacCready struggled and sat up. “Oh no. Please no. Lucy patched that thing for me a dozen times. It’s the only thing I have left that she touched with her beautiful hands, with her fingertips.” He coughed back tears and rocked back and forth. “Lucy, my Lucy. I’m sorry baby. I’m sorry.” 

Soosan smiled sympathetically. She sprinkled the remainder of the baking soda on the cloth, but the front and the left sleeve had already turned into a yellowish goo. She used the edge of the box to separate the ruined fabric from the rest of the jacket and held it up. “It’s missing a sleeve and the front half. Still want it?”

He closed his eyes and nodded fervently.

“Jesus Mac, you doing all right?” asked Hancock, grimacing at the sight before him. 

The merc sighed and opened his eyes. “Yeah. I could be worse. Never thought I’d see the day where someone’s watching my back for a change. Thank God Soosan knows how to act and think quickly. Otherwise that pile of goo could have been my arm.” He surveyed the damage on his left forearm before rolling down his green shirt sleeve. “I’m no good at this close quarters stuff. Fahrenheit told me that the last time we came through here.”

Hancock extended a hand and pulled MacCready to his feet. “You just take it easy there, brother. We’ll do all the hard stuff tonight. How does fresh crab sound for dinner?” he said, grinning and pulling his combat knife from its pocket.


	50. Campfire Tales

An hour later, Hancock had finished butchering one of the mirelurk hunters, and Soosan had built a merry campfire in front of the Poseidon Energy Turbine building. MacCready dug a needle and thread out of his pack and was reinforcing the newly frayed edges of his duster. Hob and Dogmeat headed up the rocky hill nearby and had a brief encounter with an irate utility Protectron that had wandered off from its patrol around the half-finished West Everett Estates.

“Is there a chance either of you have a fusion core lying around somewhere?” asked Mac, watching Hob return from the hill. “Last time we were here that guy Sturges spotted this amazing set of X-01 power armor up there by those military trucks. Fahr would love you forever if you brought it back for her.”

“Ain’t got one on me,” said Hancock, shoving large bits of mirelurk onto a makeshift spit, “but I could send someone up here for that. It would be dead useful during the next super mutant attack on Goodneighbor.” 

Soosan watched the mirelurk chunks rotating slowly and saw the flesh turn from gray to a pinkish white. “So uh, are we eating that plain, or does anyone here have any spices?” she asked hopefully. “You know, maybe some Old Bay, or even just salt and pepper? A bit of lemon juice perhaps?” Hancock and MacCready exchanged a knowing glance and burst out laughing. Soosan rolled her neck and groaned. “I’m not cut out for this world. I have no problem killing people who attack me, but I draw the line at unseasoned food.”

“Everything okay?” asked Hob, sitting down on the other side of the fire.

“Oh, I’m just being a whiny little bitch. Don’t mind me,” replied Soosan, sighing and warming her hands. “If Dougie was here he would’ve reminded me to enjoy the bounty and stop complaining. He was the only one who could talk some sense into me.”

“Come on now, love, don’t be like that,” said Hancock, portioning out the roasted mirelurk meat for everyone. “You haven’t lived in this world very long. It takes some getting used to.”

“I guess it could be worse. At least we can enjoy some Fancy Lads for dessert,” said Soosan, chewing a bite of mirelurk and thinking. “Hey R.J., how did the children in Little Lamplight handle food? Was someone assigned to be a chef or something?”

“Well, it varied based on the supplies we scavenged, but yeah we had a cook. His name was Eclair and he ran the Spelunkers Restaurant. He was pretty skilled at adapting regular recipes to the Lamplight cave fungus,” he said nonchalantly.

Hancock and Soosan stopped eating and looked at each other. “Jesus Mac. You’ve never mentioned that before,” said Hancock, guilt rising within him. “How did you manage to get so big and strong if all you ate was cave fungus?”

The merc shrugged. “It’s not a big deal, you guys. Most of us went through a growth spurt once we got to Big Town. Although actually when I was about twelve years old this mungo came to the cave and traded a bunch of food supplies for junk like motorcycle gas tanks. She was pretty strange come to think of it.” He saw Hob’s and Soosan’s confused faces. “Oh sorry. ‘Mungo’ refers to a real adult, anyone over the age of sixteen. Anyway, she wasn’t bad for a mungo. Everyone in the Capital Wasteland called her the Lone Wanderer, but to us she was regular old Maria. We didn’t mind trading with her because she knew not to stick her nose in our business. But then one day, she randomly shows up with Sammy, Squirrel, and Penny in tow. They’d been out on a routine scavenging mission and got captured by the Paradise Falls slavers. Maria helped them escape through the sewers and escorted them back to Little Lamplight.”

Soosan’s jaw dropped. “People have child slaves? What the fuck is wrong with this world!”

Hob recalled how Carla described life in the wasteland as nasty, brutish, and short. She also formed a hypothesis about why the real Cait hated her own mother so much. “This happens often, Soosan. Sometimes settlers voluntarily sell their children into slavery so there’s one less mouth to feed. Not everyone would have followed their conscience and dropped off babies at some cave orphanage. I think Mac was one of the lucky ones.”

“But, but what happens to those children once they’re enslaved?”

Hancock coughed uncomfortably. “I would try not to dwell on the unsavory details, sweetheart.”

Soosan felt sick to her stomach. She tried to shake the nausea but it overwhelmed her. She got up and ran to some bushes on the side of the building and threw up mostly intact chunks of mirelurk all over the wall. 

“Oh God, this is my fault,” said MacCready, wiping his hands on his pants. “I’ll go check on her.” He rose and walked quietly over to her. “Hey Soosan. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have sprung that information on you. To me slavery is an ordinary fact of life, but I guess it would surprise the fu- heck out of a pre-war person.” He rubbed her back sweetly. “Once I thought of Maria that memory popped into my head. I didn’t mean to bring you down.”

Soosan wiped the spit and vomit from the corner of her mouth. “R.J., I keep thinking about my nephew. What if, what if the people who kidnapped him and killed my husband weren’t working for The Institute? What if they were in the child slave trade and they wanted to do bad things to Shayan?”

Mac held out his arms and wrapped Soosan in a strong hug, shushing her gently. “I don’t think slavers are smart enough to find someone in a vault. That’s too much work for them. Honestly, most of them are strung-out chem addicts who look worse than Cricket back at Bunker Hill. But hey, one thing at a time. First we’ve got to find Nahid, then we’ll find the baby, okay?”

Soosan sniffled into his chest and nodded. Mac stroked the top of her head for a moment, then reluctantly broke apart from her. The two rejoined the group around the campfire. Soosan sat down between Hancock and MacCready, wiping her tear-stained cheeks. “I apologize everyone. The conversation got away from me. Can we change the subject to something else? Cait, do you have any interesting stories from your past?”

Hob cleared her throat, “It’s similar to the topic MacCready brought up.” She avoided looking at Hancock, who raised a brow. 

Soosan felt her eyes welling up with tears again. “Agh, insert foot into mouth. I’m sorry Caitie-girl. Never mind all that. Um Hancock, how about you? It was lovely to be introduced to your daughter last night. How old is Fahrenheit anyway?”

He laughed, “You’re just trying to figure out my age, aren’t ya? I’m not too old for you if that’s what you’re asking.” Soosan mumbled something but he nudged her arm playfully. “I’m kidding hot stuff. Mostly. Hard to believe that Fahr is twenty now. Thank God she’s got the maturity of someone twice her age. Her mother gave birth to her in Diamond City when I was eighteen or so. Of course, I was a piece of shit at the time and wasn’t present for the birth or for her childhood. But when I saw her step through the Goodneighbor gate, I knew immediately who she was. That red hair? It was like looking in a mirror.”

Soosan dug out a box of Fancy Lads and munched on them. “No way!” she said, her mouth full. “You’re a natural redhead?”

Hancock laughed. “I used to have just a red head – now I’m red all over.”

MacCready frowned. “Who is Fahr’s mother, if you don’t mind me asking?”

The ghoul reached into his pocket and held a canister of Jet to his mouth, inhaling deeply. “This beautiful little blond thing. An ex-follower of the Children of Atom. That group is basically a cult, and everyone knows that cult members are crazy good in the sack. The two of us got a room at the Dugout and fucked all night. I thought her lifetime radiation exposure would prevent her from getting pregnant. Oops,” he shrugged. “Life finds a way.”

Soosan wrinkled her nose. “Yes, Deacon told me about that group. He said they originated with a group who worshipped an undetonated nuclear bomb?”

MacCready chuckled, “Oh God, the Megaton people. They were notorious ten years ago. It’s hard to believe their missionaries made it all the way up here. But once they got to the Glowing Sea they stopped, because how can it get much better than living in one of the original nuclear craters?”

“Deacon also said there’s a group near Salem, and possibly one much farther to the north,” added Hob. “But he asked not to be quoted on that.”

Soosan giggled. “Cait, you sure do remember a lot of what Deacon has said. It’s almost like you’re hanging on his every word or something.”

Hob blushed. Mac spotted this right away and rolled his eyes. “Oh jeez, what is it with that guy? He’s such a bast- jerk. Does he emit some magic dick power that I don’t understand?”

“What do you mean?” asked Hob. “Are there other people that, um, well what I mean to say is – ”

“Let’s just say you’re not the only one whose heart goes pitter patter when you see his dumb bald egg head,” grumbled MacCready.

“Oh you’ve got it bad,” remarked Hancock, taking another puff of Jet. “When you were talking my ear off about him in the Third Rail this morning, I thought you might just want to hit it and quit it. But you actually like him for who he is. That’s quite fitting, I suppose.”

“Why fitting?” asked Soosan, pausing with a snack cake held up to her mouth.

Hancock shook his head and gave Hob a knowing look. “I’m not in the business of spilling other people’s secrets. But let’s just say they’d be perfect for each other.”

Soosan squealed and jiggled Hancock’s arm. “Caitie loves Deacon, Caitie loves Deacon!”

“I do not!” exclaimed Hob, getting to her feet. “Come on Dogmeat, let’s do a patrol.”

“Aww come back,” shouted Soosan. “I didn’t mean it. Cait!” Hob groaned loudly and walked off, Dogmeat at her side.

“Hey Soosan, what do you think of old egg head?” asked MacCready, grinning. 

“Ugh, he really got on my nerves at first. It was rough leaving the vault and having him be the first man I met.” Mac snorted loudly and Soosan couldn’t help but laugh too. “But it turns out Deacon’s really smart. Surviving out here doesn’t seem to be a challenge for him. He was amazing back in Sanctuary. He knows all this shit about farming and defense. Once I got over my little stubbornness problem I realized he’s a useful person to have around. I’ve been trying to take his advice to heart.”

“No way. You have a stubbornness problem?” asked Hancock, nudging Soosan’s shoulder in mock incredulity. 

She rubbed her face in embarrassment. “Yes. And just think, you haven’t even known me that long. Imagine what my poor husband had to put up with.”

MacCready looked up. “Such as?”

“We got married right after I graduated with my law degree. I had an excellent job lined up with a family law firm in Cambridge. I think I lasted two weeks, maybe three? I could not stand my boss. Harry Winkler. Ugh. The other women I worked with told me on my first day that Harry was a sexist pig, but I figured I could handle him. I was wrong.” She sighed and unpinned her bun, shaking her hair out of its braid.

Hancock and Mac watched this action with interest. MacCready hastily cleared his throat and pulled his cap down to hide his flushed cheeks. “What sorts of things did that jerk do to you? Should we hop in our time machine and go kick Harry’s as- butt?”

“I sure hope he’s dead now, but thanks for the offer, R.J. My boss conveniently forgot that I had a degree and was qualified to practice law. I tried to keep my head down, but he insisted on shining a spotlight on me. It seemed like my only purpose in the office was to get him coffee and dote on him so he could then yell at me for not completing my legal briefs on time. Even though the office had an actual Mister Handy, he insisted on having me running around as his personal barista. One day I had enough. I was going to bring him the entire pot just to make a point, but I tripped in my stupid high heels and spilled piping hot coffee all over him. I was immediately fired and blacklisted from every law firm worth a damn. Turns out Harry only hired me in the first place to brag about employee diversity to some journalist from the Boston Bugle. Once the newspaper article came out he had no use for me. Employment there was considered ‘at-will’, so he could have laid me off, but Harry thought it would be funny to get an office betting pool going to see how long it would take to harass me into quitting. He didn’t bet on getting second degree burns.” She snorted. “What a piece of shit.”

“Good for you sister. I don’t fully understand what the old world was like, but it sounds like a tyrant got his comeuppance,” said Hancock appreciatively. He dug a bottle of rum out of a coat pocket and took a swig, offering it to Mac.

“No thanks man,” he said, turning back to Soosan and giving her his full attention. “I guess I understand now why you had a bunch of free time to watch your nephew. You probably saw him more than your sister did. Remind me again why Nahid was a single mother? Did Shayan’s dad die?”

Soosan let out one loud laugh. “God I wish. Roger was alive, living life the way assholes always do – totally unconcerned about anyone but themselves. The moment Nahid found out she was pregnant he changed, almost like he was jealous of the baby, if that makes sense? Nahid couldn’t devote every waking second to tending to Roger’s needs, so he started throwing tantrums unbefitting of a grown man. Their neighbors called the cops on him, but the worm wriggled out of it somehow. Oh and I’m almost certain Roger cheated on my sister. One day at their house someone kept calling, letting the phone ring once, and then hanging up. I was fast enough to answer one time, but there was a click and then silence. It didn’t matter though. By that point I had already helped Nahid file the paperwork to divorce him and gain sole custody of their unborn child. The moment the baby was getting taken away from him, almost overnight Roger cared immensely about his paternal rights. Thankfully it was too late. Good riddance to that parasitic piece of human garbage!” She stuffed a snack cake in her mouth and chewed it angrily. 

MacCready took off his hat and nervously ran a hand through his chestnut hair. “I don’t want to get too ahead of myself here, but if we do end up finding Shayan it sounds like he’ll benefit from having a father figure in his life. I know I tend to be arrogant and come off like I want to be alone – nothing could be further from the truth. Being alone scares the heck out of me. I’m beginning to realize how much I missed having someone I could depend on, and who depended on me. If we have success tomorrow in locating the cure for Duncan and getting it back to him in time, well, I’ve had this longstanding idea of bringing him to the Commonwealth. It would be ideal for him to grow up alongside other children. He and Shayan could be like brothers, and I could be their dad. I could quit this mercenary life and make an honest living. You and me and Nahid could run a mutfruit farm or something at that Sanctuary place.”

Soosan instantly started crying. She scooted next to him, putting her head on his shoulder and grabbing the crook of his elbow. “You paint a beautiful picture R.J. Let’s do it! Let’s bring the boys to Sanctuary Hills. We’ll turn the neighborhood into the sort of settlement it should have always been – a community where parents and children can be safe and happy.”

He wiped away her tears with his thumb. “Easy there, knockout, I didn’t mean to make you cry. But it’s been on my mind and I thought you should know.” Mac and Soosan smiled at each other.

“That’s a great idea, kid,” said Hancock, who by now was too drunk to hide his jealousy. He took another long swig of rum and stood up, swaying. “You two can play house while the rest of us deal with grown-up problems.”

“Come on John, you know better than anyone not to dismiss the tiny dreams that help people get by. Without those what’s the point in living?” asked Mac, standing up as well. He and Hancock glared at each other for a moment. The merc rolled his eyes and sighed loudly. “I’m gonna turn in for the night. Wake me in a couple hours when you want me to stand guard.” He offered his hand to Soosan. “Do you mind sharing a bed roll with me?”

She took his hand and got to her feet. “Um, that’s fine,” she said, narrowing her eyes and trying to figure out where the tension between the two men had suddenly come from. She erroneously thought perhaps it had nothing to do with her.

Hancock drained the rest of the bottle and smashed it against the side of the building. He didn’t flinch as the spray of glass hit his coat. “Hey Cait! Where are you? Isss my turn to be on patrol,” he slurred.

“Up here,” she called from above, her voice echoing in the night.

The ghoul clattered up the metal staircase and wound his way through the maze of pipes crossing the roof. Dogmeat met him and led him to Hob, who was standing near the corner, staring in the direction of the West Everett Estates. Hancock stumbled over to her, grabbing her waist and roughly pulling her towards him. “Did you hear all that, gorgeous? Duncan and Shayan are going to be brothers,” he said in bitter sing-song voice. “Happy fucking day.”

Her eyes stung at the intense wave of alcohol breath that hit her face. “Yes. It’s strange. My only goal is to support Soosan, but it’s hard to stand by knowing things that run counter to what she wants,” said Hob quietly. She lowered her voice to barely a whisper. “Sometimes I don’t think my programming is adequate for these ethically complex situations. I understand now that I wasn’t fully prepared. I should’ve waited to release her from that cryo-pod.”

Hancock swayed in place, barely listening. His black eyes made it difficult for her to see how enlarged his pupils were. “She’ll end up with him, you know,” he mumbled. “Mark my words. Long-term commitment? The promise of safety and security? That shit’s a guaranteed panty-dropper. One day Soosan will come to you and give you some speech about what you mean to her, but she’s moving on and maybe it would be better for you two to part ways.”

Hob frowned at the ghoul. “Are we still talking about Soosan and MacCready?”

He stood next to the metal railing and rattled it, aggressively testing how soundly it was bolted in place. “I can’t blame them for thinking about Sanctuary. I mean, who’d want to raise a kid in Goodneighbor? With that dickwad A.J. running around I think Duncan and Shayan would end up as chem addicts before they hit puberty.”

Hob was shocked that she once again felt shocked. The surface dwellers never failed to disappoint her. “What? Are you saying A.J. sells chems to children and intentionally gets them addicted?”

The mayor sighed and scratched his forehead. “Yeah, it’s despicable. I know. It’s on my to-do list for when I get back home. Think I might have to give him the old Finn special.” He smiled and patted the pocket where he kept his combat knife.

Hob hesitated for a second. She scanned the horizon and didn’t see any watcher crows. Just in case, she reached up and wrapped her arms around Hancock’s neck. She got on her tiptoes and whispered in his ear, “A.J. is an informant for The Institute.” Hancock gripped the railing so tightly white spots appeared on the red ridges of his knuckles. Hob moved to his other ear, acting like she was kissing his neck. “He’s not the only one. Marowski is also an informant. In exchange for intel The Institute provides him with advanced chem recipes. He delivers those to someone named Fred Allen for experimentation before they get produced for wider circulation.” She sunk back down to her usual height and nervously studied Hancock’s face. 

His rage levels had spiked so high he had circled back around to eerily calm. “Thank you for telling me that, sister. I’m sure it was a risk. You can head on down to Soosan and Mac. I need to be alone for a bit.”

“Dogmeat, stay with the mayor. Guard him, boy.” Hob removed her hands from his neck and walked away slowly, her insides roiling with guilt about revealing information in a fit of spite. She swallowed, wishing she could undo the last few minutes of conversation.


	51. Radiation Bursts

As the sun rose, Hancock bounded over to Hob, Soosan, and MacCready. The three of them were cuddled together in the turbine building, wedged into a warm space between the Nuka Cola machine and an old computer console. Mac had thrown an arm around Soosan’s waist, and his fingers rested very close to her breast. He nuzzled a nose into her clean hair. “Wakey wakey!” said the mayor, grinning broadly.

Mac looked at the watch on his right hand. “Jesus, how is it so early?” he grumbled. “Please Hancock. Ten more minutes,” he begged, yawning and pressing closer to Soosan. 

“Nope!” he replied, shaking the merc obnoxiously, causing him to knock into Soosan. “Time to hit the road. If we do this right we can clear Med-Tek and be back in Goodneighbor by midnight.” 

Soosan had already been awake for an hour, though she kept her eyes closed to keep up the charade. She had spent the night chewing her lip anxiously, feeling guilty for sleeping next to another man so soon after burying her husband. She removed Mac’s arm to stand up. Soosan stepped over him and put on her suit jacket before strapping on her Pip-Boy and various armor pieces. “My my, Mayor Hancock, aren’t we perky this morning?”

MacCready scowled at the ghoul and watched him bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Let me guess – Daytripper? Or wait, Overdrive?”

The mayor hummed nonchalantly. “Does it matter? Let’s get a move on. You guys can walk and eat at the same time.”

Hob collected their supplies that were scattered around the room and the campfire area. She handed Soosan a box of Dandy Boy apples for breakfast and hoisted the bag onto her back. “You didn’t request for any of us to relieve you last night. Was everything okay? Anything suspicious?” asked Hob, thinking of the crows.

“Not a peep from those super mutants in the construction site,” he replied, sipping a Nuka Cola with a shit-eating grin playing around his mouth. 

“Still, we need to be quiet while heading north,” said MacCready irritably while tying his belt on the outside of his duster to secure the frayed cloth. “Last time I came through here we swung too far east to avoid the super mutants and ended up attracting the attention of a bunch of radscorpions.” He passed his bandolier around his leg and secured it. “If we can find the right route we’ll go completely unnoticed.” 

Soosan twisted her hair into a bun. “Radscorpions, eh? I’m guessing they’re large and terrifying, like those mirelurk hunters. The wasteland certainly is the gift that keeps on giving,” she said sarcastically. “Every day I learn something new. Hey kids! ‘M’ is for ‘Mirelurk’, and ‘R’ is for ‘Radscorpion’.” Hancock didn’t know what she was referencing, but he laughed appreciatively anyway.

After a couple peaceful hours of walking, minus a couple bloatflies, the group approached the red brick building with the blackened crater in the center. MacCready motioned for them to stop. “See that up ahead? It’s full of rads. This isn’t pre-war damage. Something was detonated here within the last few years. Hancock, would you do the honors?”

The mayor chuckled. “Never send a human to do a ghoul’s job.” He approached the building carefully and peered through a large gap in the wall, whistling. “Well what have we here? I thought the Brotherhood of Steel was limited to the Cambridge Police Station. I didn’t know they’d made it this far north. Very interesting.” Fahrenheit had already briefed him on this site, of course, but he wanted to make a show in front of Soosan to gauge her reaction. He crouched over a corpse in the only intact set of power armor and yanked its holotag off. “Knight Varham is it?” Hancock rummaged behind the knight’s body, picking up a holotape and switching off an active distress pulsar. “Hey Miss Pip-Boy! Let’s listen to this.”

Soosan slid the tape in and pressed play. A man’s panicked voice rang out, “Ambushed on the road. We’re outnumbered five to one. We’ll have to scuttle the armor! We can’t let them have it. Dammit! Astlin, set the self-destructs. Faris, fall back. We’ll head for the old military base, then try to make it to our holdout. The code will be our call sign. Move!”

Hob and Soosan looked at each other. “These must be the missing Brotherhood people Paladin Danse was sent to find,” said Hob. “Recon Squad Artemis.”

“Hey Caitie-girl, turn around.” Soosan dug in various pockets of the pack until she found the scrap of paper she wanted. She fiddled with the controls on the Pip-Boy’s radio function and tuned in to the correct frequency. “Hello?”

Through the static a woman’s voice answered sternly, “This is Scribe Haylen, Brotherhood of Steel. Who is this? How did you get this frequency?”

Hancock rolled his eyes and lit a cigarette. “Magic,” he answered loudly. 

Soosan hit his arm while putting on a sweet voice. “Hi Haylen, this is Soosan and Cait. We helped you with those feral ghouls a few days ago?”

A man’s voice took over. “Civilians, this is Paladin Danse. What is your reason for contacting us on this frequency? Is there an emergency? Do you require our assistance?”

It was MacCready’s turn to roll his eyes. He made his voice as high-pitched as possible and replied, “Yes, it’s my skirt. It keeps riding up and won’t stay down no matter how hard I try.”

Soosan smacked him upside the head as he giggled. “Sorry about that Danse. We’re due south of Med-Tek Research. We believe we’ve come across destroyed power armor belonging to your Recon Squad Artemis. We’ve recovered a holotag belonging to a deceased Knight Varham and some sort of battlefield holotape. I don’t know the man who recorded it, but he mentions an ‘Astlin’ and a ‘Faris’. Do those names sound familiar?”

Through the static they heard Haylen cheering loudly. “Yes that’s them. Thank you Soosan!”

Danse interrupted, “Tell me everything that was on that holotape.” Hob recited it word for word. Mac raised his brows, impressed at her recall. Danse continued, “Excellent. We’ll head up there as soon as possible. We successfully retrieved the Deep Range Transmitter and sent word to our superiors. Elder Maxson is traveling here from the Capital Wasteland. The Commonwealth will soon be under the protection of the Brotherhood of Steel. He will no doubt want to personally thank you for your assistance in this matter.”

“Elder Maxson, you say? Um, yes, that sounds nice,” stuttered Soosan. MacCready shook his head rapidly and Hancock stared daggers at her. She grimaced, unsure of what the correct response would have been.

“Glad to hear it civilian. When the Brotherhood arrives, everyone will know it. Believe me. Come find us when we’ve settled in. Over and out.”

She switched off the radio. “I didn’t know what to say!” she said in exasperation, throwing her arms up in the air.

Hancock made a disgusted face. “You’re the one with the ghoulified sister. Hope you get to meet her before the Brotherhood shoots her down in cold blood.”

“It can’t be that bad,” she pouted. “Can it?”

Hob winced at her. “You remember what Scribe Haylen said about giving hell to ferals, super mutants, and synths. Well, the Brotherhood doesn’t consider regular ghouls to be any different than feral ones. They really only support ‘purebred’ humans.”

Soosan was horrified. “That’s racist! Well, not exactly, but it’s species…ist! Systematic discrimination against anyone who’s not a ‘normal’ human.” She made exaggerated air quotes with her fingers. “This Elder Maxson won’t know what hit him. His soul may have been forged in eternal steel, but I might have to eat his heart in the marketplace,” she said determinedly, quoting Shakespeare.

MacCready laughed and held up his hands in surrender, unaware that Soosan was not being literal. “All right. You’re back in our good graces, Soosan. Actually, you wouldn’t know this but the Brotherhood didn’t always buy into such a hardline stance. For a while there, they were led by a guy named Elder Lyons. He was a lot more honorable. He performed charitable acts, Project Purity being the biggie. Some members were so against this ideology that they split off and formed their own group called the Outcasts. But after Lyons died, Maxson convinced them to come back into the fold.”

“Project Purity?” asked Soosan.

“Remember I told you last night about Maria, who was also called the Lone Wanderer? She and her father helped the Brotherhood with the massive task of purifying the Potomac River so we could all have clean drinking water.”

“That is incredible,” gasped Soosan. “Do you think we could get them to do the same thing for the Charles and the Mystic?”

Mac shrugged. “Sure, if you can bring Elder Lyons back to life.”

Hancock interjected, “The only Commonwealth faction that would have the ability to make that kind of scientific progress is The Institute, and as we all know, they prefer to fuck with us instead of help us.” He stared directly at Hob. “I don’t know anyone who might be able to change their minds.”

Hob gulped and twiddled her fingers apprehensively. “This has been an illuminating conversation, but we need to accomplish our goal. Med-Tek is right there. Come on MacCready. Let’s go find that cure for your son.”

As they walked up to the building, Soosan counted the number of dead ferals surrounding the entrance. “Jeez R.J., you and Preston’s group really took all these out? That’s impressive.”

“Yeah, but to be honest Fahrenheit was responsible for a lot of our success. She used her minigun on that car and caused this huge explosion. It was quite a sight.” He saw Hancock puff out his chest in fatherly pride.

“Is there anything you can tell us before we head inside?” asked Hob.

“Not a whole lot,” said MacCready, rubbing his neck in embarrassment. “I didn’t make it very far before the number of ferals got overwhelming. The place is on lockdown from when the bombs dropped. A few months ago up the road from here I bumped into this guy Sinclair whose friend was covered in the same blue boils as Duncan. Right before he died, Sinclair gave me the containment override password. He said to head upstairs to the executive terminal to end the lockdown. After that, I have no idea what we’ll encounter. With my luck it will be more feral ghouls.” He shuddered.

Hancock squeezed his shoulder encouragingly. “Come on kid. No time like the present. Let’s go kick some feral ass.” He pried open the metal door to Med-Tek Research and readied his shotgun.

A mechanical voice echoed above the foyer. “Is someone present?”

“Fuck,” whispered MacCready, his heart sinking. “Synths.” He looked around at the pile of ghoul bodies in the entryway. “Guess they took care of the rest of the ferals for me.”

Soosan adjusted her grip on the newly christened Lionheart, trying to sound confident. “At least our problems are more manageable now, right R.J.?”

Mac nodded hesitantly. He crouched and used his scope to examine the balconies. “I think we’ve got chrome domes on every level. I’ll stay here by the door and shoot the ones that cross my sights. Dogmeat will stay with me. You, Hancock, and Cait find a way to the executive suite. Here’s the password Sinclair gave me.”

“You sure you don’t want me down here with you?” asked Hancock, tucking the scrap of paper in his breast pocket. 

He shook his head. “I’ll be fine. That’s what the dog is for. Come on. Let’s get in and out.”

Hancock motioned for Hob and Soosan to follow him. “Ladies, mind if I take the lead?”

“No problem,” said Soosan nervously. “What’s it like fighting synths anyway?” Hob fell to the back, internally wrestling with the idea of killing a fellow synth, regardless of its generation.

“Not too bad,” he answered while stealthily ascending the staircase like a cat. “They’re more predictable than ferals at least. Their heads are their weak points, as you’d expect. But if one’s chasing you, try to take out its knees first.” Hancock stopped at the doorway on the second level. “Shh. I think we got company.” He picked up a tin can from the ground and tossed it into the middle of the room.

“Movement detected,” said a chorus of synthetic voices. Three synths appeared near the railings above, aiming at Soosan and Hancock. Without thinking, Hob rushed forward and blasted all three in their foreheads.

“Nice job Caitie-girl!” exclaimed Soosan, holding up her palm to Hob. After a second of waiting, she grabbed Hob’s hand, held it up, and slapped their palms together. “Do we not do high fives in the future?”

“Not really,” said the ghoul, frowning at the strange action. He popped out onto the balcony and gave Mac a quick thumbs up. The group climbed the next staircase and ended up on the walkway. “I think the executive suite’s right here. Come on up kid,” said Hancock.

They waited for MacCready and Dogmeat. As he joined them, he remarked, “What the heck happened in here? Place is trashed.”

“Maybe The Institute is looking for the same cure you are,” said Soosan quietly. “I hope the synths haven’t gotten to it before us.”

“We’ll see,” said Mac, heading into the next set of offices. As he opened the door, two synths fired at him. The laser beams missed and left black scorch marks on the wall. Soosan rushed forward and used her Ripper to slice one’s arm off and damage the other’s torso. Hancock aimed over MacCready’s shoulder and blasted each synth in the face.

The merc stumbled backward and sunk into the leather chair that used to belong to the Med-Tek president’s executive assistant. He rasped, trying to slow his shaky breathing. “Thanks for having my back you guys.” Soosan knelt down and rubbed his back. Calmer now, he said, “Check the terminal on that big desk over there. Sinclair’s passcode better work or we’re screwed.” 

Hancock swaggered over and clicked a few times on the keyboard, searching through the options. “Well, well. Very interesting.”

A buzzer sounded from the first floor. Mac breathed a long sigh of relief. “Thank God that worked. Let’s head down to the sub-levels. That’s where the sensitive research took place and where Med-Tek likely stored the cure.”

They returned downstairs and passed through the airlock. Hancock dug a box of Orange Mentats out of a coat pocket, twirling it between his fingers before popping a couple. He read the label on the box. “I never realized this was the place that invented these things. Daddy’s little helpers. According to that terminal upstairs they poured a bunch of money into marketing Mentats in school districts and college campuses.” 

Hob scoffed. “What was wrong with people back then? I guess if you got kids hooked on drugs then you ended up with lifelong customers.” She angrily blasted a laser turret.

Soosan crouched in front of a terminal, opening the security doors. “I guess the moral of the story is that everyone sucks, no matter the year!” The doors hissed open. Several feral ghouls emerged from a laboratory area. Dogmeat barked viciously, jumping and knocking over the nearest one. “Aw shit,” said Soosan. She easily cut all of them down, however. Lionheart passed through their rotting flesh like butter.

Hancock dug through the pockets of the former Med-Tek employees and pulled out several bottles of Buffjet. “Bingo. Hey Mac, interested?”

“No way. I need to keep a clear head right now,” he said, hiding his trembling hands by pretending to check how well his boots were laced. “But I wouldn’t say no to some Rad-X, just in case we come up against more ferals.”

The group continued through the levels, first up, and then down several stories in a functioning elevator. MacCready hung back and focused on taking out the turrets while everyone else killed countless ghouls. He complained about hacking terminals and opening doors just to kill ghouls that were already locked away, but both Soosan and Hancock reasoned that it would be kinder than leaving them imprisoned for another century or two. Hob checked every first aid kit they encountered, stuffing their bags full of stimpaks and RadAway. She even found a fusion core that would enable them to take the X-01 power armor on their way back to Goodneighbor.

At the lowest level, they all coughed and wrinkled their noses. “Oh God, it smells horrible. I think we’re the first ones down here in a long time. The sooner we find the cure, the sooner we can get out of here,” whined Mac. He looked at a smudged glass observation window that was obscured by horizontal blinds. “How much you wanna bet the cure is in that room?”

Hancock grinned wickedly. “And how much do you want to bet that whatever’s in there is nastier than anything we’ve come across?”

“Is it against the rules to take a five minute break?” panted Soosan. “I grabbed a Nuka Cola Quantum by the executive suite and I’m thirsty.” She sat down, leaning against a wall.

“I dunno,” said Hob warily. “Dogmeat and I will do a couple circuits, make sure there’s no more ferals sleeping under piles of rubbish.”

MacCready sat next to Soosan, intentionally letting their thighs touch. “Finding this cure has been my sole purpose over the last few months. If that cure isn’t in there I don’t know what I’ll do with myself.” He thunked his head against the wall a couple times. Soosan offered him a sip of her drink.

“I know exactly what you mean R.J. Not the few-months part, but the sole-purpose part. If I search endlessly for my sister and never find her, I’m not sure if I could figure out another reason to keep putting up with this world. Dougie’s gone, Shayan’s probably gonna be raised by some group of weirdos. Cait will eventually get tired of putting up with my shit.” 

“I don’t want to encourage that kind of negative thinking, but I do understand where you’re coming from,” said Hancock, popping one of the Buffjet pills. “This world is made of sadists and masochists, Soosan, and I think it’s already clear which one you are. The more you anticipate some beautiful, fairytale ending, the more your worst fears will grow. At a certain point you gotta stop expecting certain outcomes.”

“I mean, I’m not ready to give up yet, but thank you for your pessimism,” said Soosan sarcastically.

“I ain’t being pessimistic, sister. I’m being realistic. Pragmatism is the key to survival in this shitty wasteland. And I don’t think you should give up, just temper your expectations. You might not find your sister. Mac might not find this cure. It’s how this world works. Why do you think I’m high all the time?”

“I know you’re right Hancock, but neither of us want to hear that,” she replied, jerking her head towards MacCready and glaring at the ghoul. “There’s a time and a place for that sort of talk, and it’s not now.”

The merc got to his feet. “I’m fine, Soosan, but thank you for thinking of me. It’s time to do this. Hancock, can you do your magic on that terminal? Hey Cait! Dogmeat! It’s time,” he shouted.

The mayor clicked away while everyone else got into position. As the doors opened, two ferals standing on the other side of the doorway growled and rushed towards the group. Hob fired and hit one in the knee, while MacCready’s shaking hands missed a headshot on the other one. The bullet grazed the ghoul’s ear. Enraged, it lunged at the merc but tripped on a rubber floor mat, falling to the ground. Soosan moved forward to use her Ripper, but the first ghoul reached out and yanked her pant leg. Not wanting a repeat of what Finn did to her, she forcefully tried to kick it off. A loud crack from Hancock’s shotgun temporarily caused a ringing in everyone’s ears. He had blown off the arm of a glowing one that had crept unseen from the right side of the room. It tilted its head to the ceiling and shrieked loudly, causing a green wave to ripple outward from its body. The radiation burst rejuvenated the two regular ferals, who gurgled and got to their feet in a frenzy.

“Fuck!” screamed MacCready, stumbling back from the doorway. The first ghoul swiped at him, but Dogmeat jumped up and tore out its throat. Mac froze in place, unable to speak.

“You okay?” asked Soosan over her shoulder as she used Lionheart to decapitate the other ghoul. 

“He’ll be fine!” responded Hancock, who had one eye closed as he aimed for the glowing one’s knee. He and Hob fired repeatedly at it, soon joined by Soosan and Dogmeat. Together, after a lot of effort, the four of them took down the glowing one. Hancock kicked away one its separated limbs in disgust. 

“Jesus Christ. What the hell was that?” asked Soosan, grabbing a nearby table to steady herself. As the growing wave of radiation-induced nausea hit, her skin went pale and her palms became clammy and cold. “How did it do that green blasty thing?” she choked.

“They’re called glowing ones,” answered Hancock, walking over to her and gripping her arm to keep her from falling. “They’re like the super mutants of the feral ghoul world. This one was probably created by that reactor over there. Glowing ones can emit concentrated bursts of radiation at will, which heals ghouls around them. Even me,” he said, ashamed of who he was associating himself with.

“What’s it like?” asked Hob.

He chuckled darkly. “Reminds me of the high I experienced when I became a ghoul. Let’s just say my balls are very tingly right now.” Hancock reached down and adjusted himself. “Not quite radstorm levels, but definitely up there.”

Hob wrinkled her nose. “Oh. Well congratulations on your balls. Shall we look for the medicine?”

“Can you two take care of that?” asked Soosan. She barely finished her question before she vomited Nuka Cola Quantum all over the floor. Some of it splattered on Hancock’s boots. She stumbled through the doorway, still green with nausea. “Mac, you got some RadAway?”

He had crawled on the floor over to their bags. “One step ahead of you,” he groaned, unzipping the main pocket and searching through it for the IV bag and needles. Dogmeat was licking his face, trying to be helpful. “Cait, Hancock, just find that cure please.”

Hob looked around. She dug through a couple first aid kits and a box of neatly folded clothes. Hancock pocketed the various bottles of chems he came across, and then searched through the refrigerators on either side of the room. He made a noise of disgust as he rifled through body parts. “Anything yet?” he asked Hob. He found a Massachusetts Surgical Journal and flipped through it while frowning. “I’m not sure what went on down here, but based on all the bones I’m guessing these scientists did something rather disturbing to come up with this fancy cure.”

Hob was no longer surprised by revolting human behavior. As she walked around, she noticed a glint on the floor. She bent down and picked up a red syringe that had rolled under the toekick of the cabinets in the center of the room. She turned it over and saw the word written on the side. “Hey MacCready! Is it called Prevent?”

“That must be it!” he called from outside. “It has to be!” Hob jogged over to show him the syringe. Mac clasped it in his hand and briefly squeezed his eyes shut, pushing tears back in. “Holy crap we actually did it! Finally. Duncan has a fighting chance. The last step ahead of us is getting back to Goodneighbor. Daisy and I have this arrangement. When I found the cure she’d come up with a way to get it to my son without arousing the suspicion of anyone who might attack the caravan on its way to the Capital Wasteland. She said something about hiding it in a teddy bear’s butt.”

“That’s very clever,” said Soosan. As the RadAway took effect some of the color had returned to her face. “If all goes well in the wasteland we can make it to Goodneighbor before midnight.”

“Let’s not be too hasty. Give the RadAway a chance to work,” said Hancock, sitting on a wooden crate and rolling dried hubflowers into a cigarette. “Keeping that skin of yours smooth takes time.”

Soosan shifted stiffly, trying to keep the needle from falling out of her arm. “Hey Caitie-girl, how come you haven’t been affected by the blast from the glowing one?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Hob and Hancock exchanged a glance. “Oh, I think I’m just one of those lucky people who have a higher than normal tolerance for radiation. Maybe I should go join the Children of Atom. I’ve always wanted to worship an undetonated nuclear bomb,” said Hob sarcastically, causing Soosan to break into a fit of tired giggles.


	52. Prissy Pants

They arrived in Goodneighbor earlier than expected. MacCready made a beeline for Daisy’s Discounts, holding the Prevent syringe aloft and waving it back and forth. “I did it Daisy! I mean, we did it,” he said, gesturing to Hancock, Soosan, Hob, and Dogmeat. They were milling around awkwardly in front of Daisy’s shop, half eavesdropping, half minding their own business. Soosan took the opportunity to exit the X-01 power armor they’d picked up on their way back past the Poseidon Energy Turbine.

Daisy ran out from behind her counter and wrapped Mac in a hug. She wiped a tear out of the corner of his eye and patted his back. “That’s wonderful news honey.”

“After I froze before, I kind of lost faith that this would ever happen. This Prevent syringe is the last of its kind, so it absolutely has to make it to Duncan,” he pleaded. 

“Of course.” She pulled a teddy bear out from under the counter and turned it upside down, making a small rip at the seam. MacCready handed her the syringe and she inserted it carefully. Daisy ducked under the counter again, pulling out a needle and thread.

“Thanks Daise. I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to pay you back for this. I owe you. Big time.”

“You’re already running quite a tab there, Bobby,” she smiled, sewing up the rip in the bear. “Nah, I’m just kidding. You’ve helped me handle plenty of unfriendly customers. This special request is on the house.”

MacCready shuffled his feet uncomfortably. “Thanks. I’ve always been better at taking than giving. Maybe one day I’ll learn to get my priorities straight. Actually, if this cure reaches Duncan in time, I’ve decided we need to be reunited. I want a chance to be his father. These past months have been torturous without him. Do you have any paper? I’m going to instruct the current mayor of Little Lamplight to send Duncan up here to the Commonwealth as soon as he’s cured.”

Soosan coughed behind him to get his attention. “R.J.? This may be none of my business, and you can totally tell me to shut up, but that sounds kind of dangerous. Shouldn’t you go down there in person to meet him? It seems like you’re about to trip at the finish line.”

The merc didn’t quite understand Soosan’s analogy, but he got the gist of it. “Oh I see. I thought you needed me to escort you to Diamond City? After all, I owe you too. You did me a favor by helping me clear Med-Tek. The scales don’t seem balanced.” He blushed in embarrassment when he realized he was the object of so many people’s pity.

Hancock intervened. “Mac, your kid comes first. All of us have our priorities straight. Go down there and give him the cure yourself. Instead of that Lone Wanderer Maria, now you get to be the ‘mungo’ hero marching into Little Lamplight.”

MacCready looked around at everyone. “Cait, would do you have to say?”

Hob shrugged. “The sooner you leave, the sooner you can come back. Hancock and I can help Soosan find her sister. But it sounds like you’re needed in the Capital Wasteland. Your dream is going to come true, and you deserve to be there to witness it.”

“Ooh yes! Maybe by the time you return Shayan will already be in Sanctuary, just itching to play with his buddy!” said Soosan, beaming at Mac. Hob pushed away the strange mental image of the real Shaun, a man in his 60s, interacting with Duncan. She thought maybe S9-23 would make a better playmate.

“If you can make it down to the halfway point between Neponset and Quincy before 5am, you should be able to meet the caravan. That’s the first one leaving the Commonwealth. The driver is honest, and a friend of mine.” Daisy scribbled something on a piece of paper and handed it to him, along with a box of .308 bullets. “Here, give him this note. I’ll vouch for you, as long as you help defend the caravan when you run into trouble. The round trip is going to be four or five weeks, if all goes well. Probably longer on the way back since you’ll be carrying Duncan. I doubt his little legs will be able to walk the whole way.” She gave him the sewn up teddy bear and smiled.

MacCready hugged the bear to his chest with trembling fingers. “Is this real? Is this happening? I’m a fortnight away from seeing my son? I must be dreaming.” He pocketed the note and turned to Hancock, shaking his hand vigorously. “Thank you for everything John. I mean it. If it weren’t for you letting me crash on the couch in the Third Rail I’m pretty sure the Gunners would have already used me as target practice.” 

“We’ll miss having you around next super mutant attack,” said Hancock. “I bet you’ll do a fine job defending the caravan.”

Mac then shook Hob’s hand. “Cait, you’re a hell of a fighter. I know you’ll keep Soosan safe.” 

“Absolutely,” said Hob. “You can count on me.”

He moved down the line and turned his blue eyes to Soosan. Mac bit his lip, hesitating before wrapping Soosan in a tight embrace. “Good luck out there, knockout. I’m sure you’ll find Nahid before I’ve even made it to the Capital Wasteland.”

Soosan snaked her arms around his waist and cried into his chest. “I’m happy you’re going, but I’ll miss you R.J. And um, this probably sounds stupid, but if any of the children from Little Lamplight are about to turn sixteen and get kicked out into the world of mungos, then feel free to invite them up here with you. I’m sure Preston and Sturges can always use resourceful people in Sanctuary Hills.”

“That’s sweet, Soosan. I will.” He wiped away her tears and couldn’t resist giving her a kiss on the cheek. Hancock breathed out slowly through his nose, suddenly impatient for MacCready to be a ways down the road already. The merc waved sadly at the group. “All right everyone. I’m off.” He headed towards the Goodneighbor gate.

“R.J.! Wait!” exclaimed Soosan, who was seized by the need to make sure MacCready had something to remember her by. “Take Dogmeat with you.”

“Are you sure about that?” asked Hob, alarmed at the charitable offer. “We could use him here too.”

“I insist,” said Soosan firmly. “R.J. needs someone out there watching his back. I’m certain the road to D.C. is fraught with danger. I would feel better if he wasn’t totally alone.”

Mac grinned. “I’m not gonna say no to that. Come on boy, we gotta go,” said MacCready, patting his thigh. Dogmeat licked Soosan’s hand and then ran next to the merc. The group watched as he left, Dogmeat at his side.

“Well ladies, it’s getting pretty late, for you two at least. Since you’re down one escort, I can put you up in the Hotel Rexford, or you can spend the night in the Old State House again while we figure out who can help you,” said Hancock, winking at them.

“I don’t mind staying with you again. And without R.J. here I kind of thought you would be the one to help me in my time of need,” said Soosan, unaware of how flirtatious she sounded. 

He grinned suggestively. “Oh I can help you all right, sister. But at this moment I’ve got to meet with Fahr about some urgent business to take care of here. She’ll be thrilled about this power armor. Why don’t you head on up to my room? I’ll be by later to chat.” Hancock took the combat knife of its pocket and twirled it between his fingers as he walked off.

Soosan and Hob acknowledged the nearest member of the neighborhood watch before trudging up the spiral staircase. They dumped the pack and wearily sank into Hancock’s bed. Soosan rubbed her aching feet, wishing MacCready had given her another foot massage before he left. She laid down, resting her arm above her head and thinking hard. 

A few hours later, Hancock gently nudged Soosan’s arm. “Hey beautiful.”

“Huh? Who? What?” mumbled Soosan. She didn’t remember falling asleep. She yawned and looked blearily at Hob, who was facing the wall. “Whass going on?” she asked groggily, sitting up and willing her dry eyes to stay open. 

“I finished catching up with Fahrenheit. Whenever I’m gone that’s inevitably when a lot of important shit goes down.” He laughed at the turn of phrase. “Anyway, do you want to go over the plan for Diamond City? There’s some, ah, background information you should probably know before we go.”

“Oh sure. Let me just – ” Soosan pulled the quilt off Hancock’s bed and wrapped it around herself. “Okay. I’m a burrito. Much better.” She followed him into the living area, fighting back the drowsiness that returned when she got comfortable on the couch. 

He opened the cabinets and handed her a Nuka Cola. “What’s a burrito, anyway?”

She nearly choked on her drink. “Oh God, you poor thing. No burritos? This horrid world. A burrito is a type of food from Mexico. A bunch of spicy ingredients wrapped in a huge tortilla. Know what I mean, jelly bean?”

Hancock shrugged and sat down next to her. “I know vaguely where Mexico is. Somewhere to the south of the Capital Wasteland. Not sure why getting warm in a blanket reminds you of food.”

Soosan laughed louder than she meant. “Imagine a flat round piece of bread wrapped around meat and vegetables and cheese, except this quilt is the bread and I’m the ingredients.” She wiggled around on the couch like a worm. “See, I’m not going anywhere. I’m snug as a bug in a rug.”

The mayor removed his hat and tossed it on the coffee table. “It’s a good thing you’re pretty because I never know what the fuck you’re talking about,” he said, smiling to cut through the harshness of his words. “Anyway, um, to get to the matter at hand.” Hancock took a deep breath. “Remember how I told you that the mayor of Diamond City banned ghoul residents and visitors, all in the name of ‘safety’? That was about five years ago now.” Soosan nodded in acknowledgment. Hancock hesitated for a moment. “I know the reason for that. It’s because of me.”

“What? But why? Because the two towns are rivals?”

“Eh, sorta. It’s more likely because I’m kinda, ah, I’m Mayor McDonough’s brother.”

Soosan’s jaw dropped and her hand loosened its grip on the quilt. “What the hell? What kind of bastard is he to ban all ghouls just so you couldn’t go back to Diamond City?”

“A spiteful bastard. A jealous bastard. When we were kids our parents had their hands full with me. Which is totally unexpected and out of character,” he said, laughing nervously. Hancock thought about reaching into his pocket for a hit of Jet but shoved the chem out of his mind. “And I think Guy felt left out or overlooked. I can’t blame him. He was a top student and all, but ol’ Patty and Martha never seemed to care. I got all the attention, and the good looks, and the girls.” He bit his lip, ashamed to tell her the next part. “And of course I was a little shit, so I made sure to remind my brother of my superiority whenever I got the chance. I didn’t know he was biding his time, waiting to get me back someday.”

Soosan swallowed, willing down the guilty feeling in her stomach. She grabbed his hand. “I understand where you’re coming from. It’s not exactly the same, but my sister was little miss perfect prissy pants, and I was this motorcycle-riding, demon spawn from hell. One time I rode Elvis the Pelvis – that was the name of my bike – so fast on the expressway that when the police pulled me over they had to arrest me and suspend my license. It was the same day Nahid found out she got into med school at C.I.T., and with her terrible luck my parents were utterly preoccupied at the police station bailing me out of jail.” 

Hancock laughed heartily. “That’s why you’re awesome. Badasses like us don’t worry about the consequences. Act first, think later. That’s what I always say.”

Soosan held her head in her hands and groaned. The quilt slipped off her back. “My poor sissy. She lived through the bombs and made it to the present doing everything the hard way, while I got frozen and zoomed myself two centuries into the future. Since Cait rescued me I’ve practically been living on easy street. You’ve helped me a ton, and so have Deacon and R.J. It’s like a microcosm of my childhood all over again. Oh God. Nahid’s gonna hate me when I find her.”

The mayor scooched closer to her and squeezed her now exposed shoulders. “Hey, easy there sister. You’ve met Daisy. Most ghouls have had the temporal distance to work through all that pre-war shit. Not to mention how survival is everyone’s top priority and it can keep you from dwelling on all the bad things.”

“But what about you? If we head to Diamond City what’s it going to be like when you see Mayor McDonough?”

“Well, it’s only been five years since he expelled the ghouls, so I haven’t had time to work through my anger, per se. I’ll need to keep my mouth shut. And besides, I’m going to be in disguise, my darling. If Guy sees me with you, you’ll have a snowball’s chance in hell at finding Nick Valentine. But if I change all my clothes and wear a gas mask and a wig, then you’ll get treated like a regular visitor. You’ll definitely want to buy something in order to blend in. Maybe stop by the Dugout and chat with the locals.”

“Since you’re from there why don’t you give us the grand tour? We can try to avoid running into your brother.”

“I’m sure he’ll find us one way or another. Just gotta figure out how to keep my cool around him. Might need to work through my nerves by cracking some skulls on the way there.”

“How do we get to Diamond City from here anyway?”

Hancock fished a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it. “There’s a variety of routes, depending on what type of danger you’re in the mood for. We could go the raider way and put some bullet holes in the heads of the lookouts who are probably still drunk from this evening.”

Soosan stood up, pulling the blanket back up. “Should we go now?”

“Nah, everything in D.C. opens around 8. No sense getting there too early. Go back and get some beauty rest.” The ghoul winked at her and watched her shuffle off, still wrapped in the quilt. After she closed his bedroom door, he pulled out his canister of Jet. Hancock took a couple deep puffs, leaned back, and tried to forget everything he had just told Soosan.

A few hours later, Soosan woke up Hob and filled her in on Hancock’s revelation about Mayor McDonough and the plan for the day. They said goodbye to Fahrenheit and set out from Goodneighbor. They stealthily crept through Boston Common, took out a couple raiders guarding the entrance to the Combat Zone, and passed by D.B. Technical High School unnoticed. Between there and the Mass Pike Tunnel, they stumbled across a patrolling deathclaw swiping at a horde of stingwings buzzing around. The group waited silently in an old mechanic’s garage until the beast lumbered off south of the freeway, pestered by more giant insects. Nearer to Diamond City, Hob shot a couple feral mongrels patrolling an old raider camp in a parking lot. A nearby security guard with a heavy Boston accent complimented her shooting skills.

When they came around the corner, the group saw a woman in a red leather jacket who was gesticulating wildly at an intercom. Hob recognized her and motioned everyone forward.

“What do you mean you can’t open the gate? Stop playing around Danny. I’m standing out in the open for crying out loud!” yelled Piper while making a rude gesture at the intercom.

“I got orders not to let you in Piper. I’m sorry. I’m just doing my job.”

“Oooh ‘just doing your job’? That’s a weak excuse repeated by weak men. Defending Diamond City from lil old me, is that it? ‘Oh look it’s the scary reporter.’ Boo!” she shouted, pulling a ghoulish Halloween face.

“Mayor McDonough’s really steamed, Piper. Sayin’ that article you wrote was all lies.” Upon hearing mention of his brother, Hancock groaned audibly. He rolled his eyes but the gas mask obscured his frustration.

“Argh! You open this gate right now, Danny Sullivan. I live here! You can’t just lock me out. Who’s going to take care of Nat?” There was silence from the other end. “I know you’re listening, Danny,” she shouted.

Soosan took this opportunity to give Piper a small wave. “Hey there. Sounds like you’re having a rough day. Is there anything we can do to help?”

Piper smiled at Soosan. “Well aren’t you a peach? I’m guessing you also want to get into Diamond City, right? Just play along.” She cleared her throat and moved towards the intercom. “What was that? You said you’re a trader up from Quincy? You have enough supplies to keep the general store stocked for a whole month? You hear that Danny? You gonna open the gate and let us in, or are you going to be the one talking to Crazy Myrna about losing out on all the supply?”

“Jeez, all right. I told you in confidence that Myrna scares me. No need to sic her on me. Give me a minute.” After a pause, the enormous metal arms pulled up the magnetically sealed door. Soosan gaped at the sight, understanding why people would want to trade a few freedoms to live behind the safety of the wall. 

As they crossed through the old ballpark’s former turnstiles, Piper turned to Soosan. “Thanks for the assist, pretty lady. You better head inside quick before ol’ Danny catches on to the bluff.”

They had only taken a few steps before Mayor McDonough ambushed them, shaking his finger in admonishment. “Piper! You devious, rabble-rousing slanderer! The level of dishonesty in that paper of yours. I’ll have that printer scrapped for parts.”

“Ooh, is that a statement, McDonough? I can see the headline now: ‘Tyrant Mayor Shuts Down the Press’. I’m sure that’ll go over real well with the residents of the great, green jewel. Actually, why don’t we ask the newcomers? Do you support the news? Because the mayor’s threatening to throw free speech in the dumpster.”

Soosan could not hide the disgust on her face when she looked at McDonough. His pathetic insecurity was no reason to expel vulnerable people into the wasteland. She straightened up and put on her lawyer voice. “I’ve always believed in the freedom of the press.” She turned back to Piper. “The real question is: why is the mayor so afraid of you?” She recalled MacCready’s explanation of how Piper’s fearmongering caused the residents of Diamond City to become quite paranoid about synths. For a brief moment she wondered if perhaps the mayor’s anger was justified.

McDonough stuttered before putting on a simpering smile. “That’s neither here nor there. I don’t want to tarnish the reputation of this splendid city before you’ve even had a chance to visit and spend your caps.”

Piper interrupted him, “Wait, new girl, have you not read my article The Synthetic Truth?” Soosan shrugged. Piper gave her an excited look. “Oh my gosh. This is perfect. So get this, I wrote an article talking about the Broken Mask Incident that occurred back in 2229. This regular guy came to town, everyone loved him, and then for no discernible reason he started murdering a bunch of people. Turns out, he was a synth that looked exactly like a human. That’s when everyone realized The Institute was even more sinister than we imagined.”

“Right, yes, I know all about how The Institute kidnaps and replaces people with synths. I wasn’t aware this has been going on for almost 60 years. Jesus. I’m guessing you’re not the first person to write about this topic. Mayor McDonough, why was this article so upsetting to you?” asked Soosan.

He cleared his throat angrily. “Miss Wright here implied that I could be a synth, which is outrageous. It’s obviously impossible but was clearly meant to damage my standing with the citizens of Diamond City. A thinly-veiled attempt at undercutting my authority!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa big guy. I didn’t actually imply that. All I said was that any of us could be synth replicants. You’re just arrogant enough to make it all about you,” retorted Piper. 

“Nevertheless, I could not stand for such seditious libel. I instructed Sullivan not to let you back in until you learned how to respect the government of Diamond City. A few nights out in the ruins would do you some good. I’m not surprised that you managed to con this fine, upstanding lady into helping you.”

“I wasn’t conning my way in. I was offering assistance to these visitors. Ordinarily that’d be your job McDonough. But instead this argument is all the welcome they get,” pouted Piper.

The mayor shushed Piper. “What’s the purpose of your visit here, little lady?” he asked condescendingly, turning to Soosan.

Soosan was struck by how much McDonough reminded her of her one-time boss Harry Winkler. “It’s okay, really. Let’s just put all this past us. I’m here to meet with Nick Valentine, see if he can help me. I’m trying to find my sister and I was told Nick is an ace at locating missing persons.”

“Wait, your sister’s missing?” asked Piper, eyebrows raised in concern.

“No, she’s not missing exactly. We got separated, um, a while ago and I’d like to be reunited with her. I’ve traveled a long way to get here. Can you point me in Nick’s general direction?”

“I’ll take you to Nicky’s office,” said Piper, looping her hand around the crook of Soosan’s arm and throwing the mayor a nasty look. “Come on you guys, follow me. See you later McDonough,” she said, waving and sarcastically blowing him a kiss.

They ascended the stone steps and Soosan gasped once the Diamond City marketplace came into view. “Wow! Civilization! This is incredible. It seems like a normal town, well, as normal as it gets in this world. Do you guys have power and running water?” Soosan squealed and jumped up and down. “Oh God this is amazing. Piperrrr yay!” She rapidly shook the journalist’s arm.

Piper couldn’t help but laugh. “Okay, easy there new girl.” She turned to Hob and Hancock. “Have all of you been to Diamond City before, or is this your first time as well?”

Hob spoke for both of them. “We’ve visited before. That place there is your newspaper office, right? Do you think we could go inside and chat a bit?”

“Uh sure. We can do that. Right this way.”

Inside Publick Occurrences, Hancock removed his wig and mask. “Ta da! Hey ya Pipes, how’s it hanging?”

She groaned. “What the hell, Hancock? Are you crazy? If McDonough catches you – “

“He’s not going to. And I know you’re not gonna rat me out. So come on, let’s chill out and catch up,” he said, flopping down on her couch and digging for a canister of Jet in the letterman-style jacket he was wearing. He patted the cushion next to him. “How long has it been? A few years? Time starts to feel meaningless when you’re a ghoul.”

Piper stayed standing. “Last time I saw you was when I did that exposé on triggermen controlling the Goodneighbor warehouses a couple years ago.”

“That’s right. You sure did ruffle a lot of feathers, but that’s what you do best. You’re a woman of many talents.”

Piper glared at him and put a hand on her hip. “What do you want Hancock?”

He clasped his hands as if in prayer. “Tell me the dirt on my brother. Who’s he been meeting with? What’s he been up to lately?”

Piper raised an eyebrow. “Do you mean what has Geneva been up to lately?”

Soosan gasped. “What! Who’s Geneva?” She sat down next to Hancock and wiggled his arm, eagerly trying to shake the gossip out of him. “Tell me, Mayor Hancock. Pretty please?”

Hob leaned against the wall, remembering how patient Geneva had been with S9 during the visit with Kellogg. “Isn’t that McDonough’s secretary? The blond woman?”

Hancock coughed out a cloud of Jet that he inhaled wrong. “Yes. She’s his secretary now. Geneva also happens to be the mother of my child.” Hob’s and Soosan’s eyes went wide with surprise. 

Piper picked at her nails with feigned disinterest. “When McDonough won the mayoral election and made Geneva his girl Friday, I knew ol’ Johnnie here would be back in town at some point trying to see his lady love again.”

Soosan spluttered, “Wait, whoa, back up. Start from the top. Geneva had Fahr twenty years ago, you became a ghoul ten years ago, and this town banned ghouls five years ago. How does your brother factor in to all this? What am I missing here?”

Hancock’s eyes flicked to Piper and then back to Soosan. “Remember how I told you Guy was a jealous little bitch? His jealousy boiled over when Geneva came to town. The Children of Atom had sent her to Boston to dig through hospitals looking for some intense experimental radiation drug to test their faith or whatever.” He saw the realization on Hob’s face and inclined his head. “Yes, the very same one that transformed me into the crimson beauty sitting before you. Geneva is how I knew about it in the first place. Anyway, she used that unchaperoned time here as her opportunity to defect. Since she was quite the specimen D.C. security let her in without a second thought. She took refuge in the Dugout, serving drinks and serving men. I noticed her immediately, as did Guy. He thought she was his chance to finally, you know, get with a girl. He jumped on the chance to woo her in her fragile, ex-cult state but she wasn’t responsive. I, uh, took advantage of his social ineptitude and – “

“Swooped in and stole the girl he was interested in,” finished Piper, frowning. “You’re a class act Hancock. You knew you could get with anyone – man or woman – but you just had to get in a dig at your brother.” 

“Hey now, I’m not proud of the selfish asshole I used to be. It was ultimately Geneva’s choice to hook up with me. We weren’t an item for very long. I sure as hell didn’t expect to knock her up.”

“But you didn’t have any qualms about leaving the moment you found out she was pregnant!” exclaimed Piper. “You abandoned the mother of your child when she needed you most.”

“Easy there, I’m pretty sure you hadn’t even been born yet when all this was going down,” said Hancock testily.

“I’ve heard the story from Geneva herself,” grumbled Piper. “You set yourself up for failure. McDonough did to you what you did to him. Swooped in and got the girl. But he one-upped you by helping raise Fahrenheit. And Geneva encouraged him to make something of himself by getting involved with Diamond City politics. She was the one who thought he could be mayor one day.”

“Guy had political ambitions since he was a kid, growing up poor in that miserable shack over by the water,” said Hancock dismissively. “It wasn’t all her.”

“Maybe, but Geneva pushed him to actually act on it.”

“Wait a second,” interrupted Hob, who had been processing this conversation. “Are you saying Geneva and Mayor McDonough are in a relationship right now?” She wondered if Geneva was also an informant for The Institute, and if so, why Justin Ayo had left out this tidbit. 

“No,” answered Piper, “not anymore. I guess Fahrenheit made it her life mission to break them up. She was exactly the childish terror you might imagine. She poisoned his morning coffee and put bloatfly maggots in his shoes. That kind of thing.”

Hancock giggled, “That’s my girl!”

Piper ignored him and continued, “McDonough didn’t handle the breakup well. He became all weird and withdrawn. He bought a lot of sweater vests and only talked to people from the upper stands. And then to make matters worse Fahrenheit ran off and immediately fell in with those Forged morons up at the old Ironworks. That really depressed Geneva when she heard the news. She constantly dreaded getting a letter saying Fahr had been killed. After McDonough got elected mayor he offered Geneva the secretary job. Doing that work helped her get back to normal.”

Hancock snorted, “Yeah, nothing’s a better cure for depression than aiding and abetting a man who wanted to ban all ghouls from Diamond City. It’s just what the doctor ordered.”

Piper scowled at him. “You know I think it’s a horrendous policy. I don’t support it in any way. But Hancock you have to admit that you played a major role in all that going down. I don’t know how McDonough found out about your transformation, but it’s obvious he banned the ghouls to get back at you for a lifetime of outwitting him. Other people paid the price for you being mean to your big brother.”

The ghoul took a hit of Jet, breathing the acrid cloud in Piper’s direction. “Don’t fool yourself into thinking that I don’t torment myself with that knowledge every second of every day. I don’t know why that damn radiation drug transformed me instead of killing me, but it did open my eyes to the shit ghouls deal with. What happened to those people weighs on my conscience. Now it takes five times the amount of chems to help me get through this fucking life.” He brandished the Jet canister at Piper before pulling his gas mask and wig back on. “So if you don’t mind, I need to go pay a visit to Chem-I-Care.” Hancock stood up and left in a huff.

There was an awkward silence in Publick Occurrences before Soosan timidly spoke. “I’m sorry Piper. I didn’t know Hancock had an ulterior motive for coming here with us. I honestly thought he just wanted to help me meet up with Nick Valentine.”

Piper dug through her small kitchen area and opened a package of gum drops, offering some to the two women. “Usually Hancock has Fahrenheit clean up the trail of devastation he leaves in his wake. She can apologize, but it doesn’t sound as sweet coming from her as it does from you.” She wanted to find a different topic of conversation. The reporter eyed the women’s clothing. She was amused by the mishmash of Soosan’s black suit and Hob’s road leathers. “So what’s your story new girl? How come I haven’t seen you around here before?”

Soosan laughed knowingly. “It’s quite the tale. Do you want the long or the short version?”

Piper clapped her hands. “Ooh do I sense a potential article coming on? Would you mind being interviewed?” she asked, digging into her coat pocket for her notebook.

“Bring it on baby,” said Soosan, smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't think of a single logical reason why MacCready would stay behind in the Commonwealth instead of hand delivering the medicine to Duncan. So darling Mac had to go. The image of him leaving is supposed to mimic the classic Fallout silhouette of a man and his dog. But don't worry - our boys will return later.


	53. Diamond City Blues

Hancock left Chem-I-Care, his jacket pockets filled to the brim with Psychojet. He didn’t usually go for uppers, aside from Mentats, but Diamond City incited rage in him in a way that the rest of the wasteland did not. The chems would help him feel his anger instead of suppressing it.

“Trouble in paradise?” asked a nearby D.C. security guard. His umpire helmet obscured his face, but Hancock instantly recognized that smug voice.

The ghoul stopped in his tracks. “What are you doing here? Spying on your girlfriend?”

“You’re spying on your ex-girlfriend,” replied the guard. “Or trying to, anyway.”

Hancock sighed. “I’m gonna go rent a room at the Dugout. Feel free to join me.” He rounded the corner past Choice Chops and headed toward the most popular hangout spot for the folks of the lower stands. The ghoul spoke as few words as possible to Vadim Bobrov in order to get the key to room number three, the farthest one from the bar. He laid down on the bed and sighed, rubbing his fingertips over the satin texture of the bare mattress.

A few minutes later, Deacon entered holding a bottle of Bobrov’s Best moonshine. He locked the door behind him, signaling that they could both remove their head coverings. “So you’ve had a busy couple days,” he said casually, adjusting his sunglasses and motioning for Hancock to scooch over. He laid on his side next to the ghoul, propping his cheek on his hand as if they were gossiping at a slumber party. “Wanna fill me in on your travels?”

Hancock rolled his eyes. “Soosan and Hob aren’t here. There’s no need for pretense.”

Deacon chuckled. “Gotta keep up appearances. I always assume there’s some overeager bar owner pressing his ear to the door!” he shouted, just in case Vadim had sent Yefim or Scarlett to spy on them.

Hancock shrugged off the letterman jacket he was wearing and rolled up one of his flannel sleeves. He injected some of the Psychojet into the crook of his elbow and his whole body tensed. Hancock gripped the mattress and threw his head back, exhaling slowly. He twitched and bit his lip before exclaiming, “Fuck that’s good! Whew!” He shook his head rapidly and his eyes finally came into focus. He looked at Deacon and lowered his voice. “Fahr filled me in last night. She said you did a real good job making it look like the Triggermen turned on Marowski and A.J. in the warehouses. Did your guys manage to get them to spill any details yet?”

Deacon hemmed and hawed. “A bit. We still don’t know how reliable their intel is since we had to torture it out of them. Tinker Tom’s cooking up a truth serum thing. Maybe that will help them be more forthcoming.”

The ghoul rubbed his fingers over the ridges of his lips, thinking. “But there’s enough to prove that Hob was telling the truth? That this wasn’t just some attempt at, shit, I don’t know what. Weird sabotage, maybe? She acted in good faith?” Deacon nodded. Hancock smiled, “Good. That inside info was worth something at least. I never would’ve pegged Marowski as being so cowardly as to throw in with The Institute, but it brings Finn’s last words into clearer focus. Maybe he was referencing some different outsiders walking all over us in Goodneighbor. Speaking of which, you dig up any dirt on Soosan?”

“I found that Boston Bugle article she mentioned about being a diversity hire at her law firm. Checks out. The police station in Malden showed an arrest record for operating a motor vehicle at unsafe highway speeds.”

Hancock laughed. “How fortuitous that she just told me that story last night. Technically this morning I guess. Now I don’t have to worry about tripping up. What about the husband?”

“I haven’t had a chance yet to get over to Fort Hagen. But I’m guessing it will corroborate the story she told Hob in Sanctuary about Douglas’s mandatory recall letter from the army.” Deacon opened the bottle of Bobrov’s Best and took a swig, grimacing at how the moonshine burned his throat. “I was also thinking of heading to the airport, see if I can find any surviving immigration documents from when the Shirdels came to the United States, though Boston wouldn’t necessarily have been their port of entry.”

Hancock closed his eyes briefly. “I don’t get it. What does The Institute want with Soosan?”

Deacon shrugged. “Maybe it’s not about Soosan at all. Maybe it’s about her sister. Hob said she was sent to that vault under an incorrect set of assumptions. Since Nahid was a doctor before the war The Institute might want to recruit her to advance synthetic organic research or something. Hob did describe herself as a ‘newer model’, whatever that means. They even let her name herself, which is a bit higher on Maslow’s Hierarchy than current third gens are designed to go. No self-actualization yet, but the escapees have gotten pretty close.”

“There is something different about Hob. I don’t know how they programmed her morality, but when I mentioned the thing about A.J. intentionally getting kids hooked on chems, she instantly lost it and ratted him out. No hesitation. Which is great and all if she’s on our side, but Jesus, you and I have plenty of skeletons in our closets. We don’t need her catching wind of something and burning down Goodneighbor in retaliation.” He growled and smacked the wall. “Oh I could kill Piper, running her mouth off about my past. God, I couldn’t even look at Hob when Piper started spilling the details of me bailing on Geneva when she got pregnant. Fuck!” Hancock hastily injected another dose of Psychojet and let it wash over him, though it was not as potent the second time around. His eyes widened. “Goddammit, I left them all alone together. Who knows what else they’re talking about?”

Deacon stood up and squeezed Hancock’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. I got this. You gonna be okay here by yourself?” He eyed the bulging jacket pockets full of chems. “I don’t want to come back to a cold ghoul instead of a warm one.”

Hancock waved his hand carelessly. “I’ll be fine Deeks. It’s just this fucking city. It gets under my skin. I feel like a helpless little kid. Go on, go on.”

Deacon put on the umpire helmet in time to disguise the concern that was crossing his face. Hancock would have loathed seeing that, especially from someone so reliably nihilistic. Deacon stepped back into the role of misogynistic Diamond City security guard and exited the Dugout Inn. His fingers twitched around the bottle of moonshine. 

He’d been following the group from afar on their journey to and from Med-Tek, of course, but he hadn’t interacted with Hob since their less than graceful parting at the Memory Den. Ninety percent of his brain was screaming that she was somehow a trap, a spunky redhead tailor-made just for him. The other ten percent reasoned that the humorless scientists of The Institute would never have programmed someone to be so cheeky and unpredictable. As Hancock said at the campfire in front of the Poseidon Energy Turbine, Hob didn’t want to “hit it and quit it.” She actually liked him. She made funny little jabs and remembered the things he said. But as the Ray Charles song in the Cambridge Campus Diner reminded him, he didn’t know her. As much as he might want to, letting things go farther would be a very bad idea indeed.

His feet carried him to the door of Publick Occurrences. Deacon paused for a moment, listening to the muffled speech coming from inside. He couldn’t make out any distinct words, so he rapped firmly with his knuckles and put on a goofy Boston accent. “Diamond City Security heah fah Miss Pipah Wright.” He bit back a chuckle, knowing the sort of tizzy Piper would be thrown into. 

There was a sound of shuffling. The reporter cracked the door a bit, wedging her foot behind it for safety. “What?” she snarled. “I haven’t done anything wrong besides simply existing in my home. If Mayor McDonough sent you here I suggest you turn around and go back to milling around the marketplace and hitting on unsuspecting women.”

Deacon smirked, hidden by the umpire mask. “You don’t recognize me?”

Hob’s voice floated past Piper. “Deacon? Is that you?”

He grinned behind his helmet. “Sweet cheeks. Two days without you has been an eternity.” Piper grudgingly moved back to let him in. “How are my two best girls? Oh and Piper, you’re here too.” The reporter glared at him.

“We were in the middle of an interview. Piper’s going to write an article about me!” beamed Soosan.

“You sure you want the whole Commonwealth sticking their nose in your personal family business?” asked Deacon, who shuddered at the thought of anyone besides him knowing his past.

She nodded. “It’ll make it much faster than having to explain the whole story over and over again when I meet new people. I can just hand them the article instead. Piper and I have gotten to the point in Sanctuary when Mama Murphy had her revelation that Nahid is still alive.”

Deacon whistled. “Still a long ways to go to catch Piper up to speed. Mind if I steal my sugar plum for a moment?” He touched Hob’s shoulder and motioned to the upstairs part of Publick Occurrences. 

Hob followed him and sat down in Piper’s desk chair, folding her arms. “I’m not gonna talk to you with that helmet on.”

He put the bottle of moonshine down on Piper’s desk, removed his helmet, and sat down on the bed. “Better?”

“And the sunglasses.”

Deacon did as he was bade. “All right baby cakes. Now you can see me, I can see you. Everybody’s equal here. I’m guessing Hancock failed to tell you what went down in Goodneighbor?” Hob raised an eyebrow. “On your advice, he had Fahrenheit capture A.J. and Marowski. She turned ‘em over to my organization. But there’s a problem. We’ve been talking to them and we haven’t found any evidence that they’re Institute informants,” he lied. “Obviously that doesn’t make you look very good, doll. So I have to ask, were you telling the truth about them?”

Hob made an offended sound. “Of course I was!”

“You know I believe you. But I have to convince some of the Railroad higher-ups that you weren’t just trying to get some nasty chem dealers off the streets. Is there anything you can give me that would help with the line of questioning? Anything at all?”

Hob hesitated and whispered, “Um, well before – when I was wearing the ghoul vesture – A.J. was the one who met me at the insertion point, at the Old Corner Bookstore. Both he and Marowski were surprised that I looked like a ghoul.”

The spy nodded. “I’ll admit that was a jolt to Hancock and me too.” He said nothing more and waited for Hob, fixing her with an intense stare.

She couldn’t stand the quiet and continued speaking. “Before you and I went to check out the Pickman Gallery, I met with Marowski to pass along some information. He wrote it down on a piece of paper. I was expecting something more secure and technologically advanced than that. But I don’t actually know how he got that paper to The Institute.” She frowned, thinking. “Maybe a courser? That would make sense. Apparently Marowski failed to give me the rendezvous information and that’s why X6-88 had to extract me. To you I guess it looked like kidnapping,” she finished guiltily, remembering Deacon’s exasperated conversation with her in the basement of the Museum of Freedom.

Deacon sighed heavily and took a swig of Bobrov’s Best, wincing at the burn. “Yes that was a pretty traumatic sight. I thought you were a goner, for sure. It reminded me of something from my past.” He paused for dramatic effect and watched Hob get drawn in during the silence. “I haven’t told this to hardly anyone, but, um, in my younger years I was married to a woman named Barbara. She called me on my shit, just like you. We had a farm down south and eked out a living. Right around the time we were trying to start a family, this gang from University Point targeted us. It turns out my Barbara, my beautiful angel, was a synth. The gang found this out and murdered her.” Deacon waited and watched Hob’s face. 

Her brows raised and her eyes went wide with shock before filling with tears. “Oh my God, Deacon. I had no idea.” She leaned forward and clasped her hands around his. “Is that why you’re so passionate about helping synths? Because you loved one and lost her?” He swallowed and nodded wordlessly. Hob stroked his cheek, rubbing her fingers across his stubble. “Did you get the sons of bitches that killed her?”

“I’m not proud of it, but I absolutely did. I don’t remember the actual events. I saw red and when I came back to the present I was surrounded by bodies.”

“That’s understandable. And admirable too. I guess I never asked you why you care about synth welfare. Actually, I haven’t even thought about why the Railroad came to exist in the first place. I thought it was based on the belief that synths are slaves, and slavery is wrong. I don’t know why it never occurred to me that your people care about synths on a personal level. Do others in your organization have similar stories?”

“Yes, though a lot of us keep the painful details to ourselves. It’s easy to get sucked down into a quagmire of self-pity. But tragedy is the glue that binds us together. We wake up every day committed to the cause and ready to die for synths – like you.” Deacon moved closer and held Hob’s gaze. “Do you have any other inside info that could assist us? Obviously I don’t want you or Soosan to come to harm, but the Railroad has been fighting The Institute for a long time without much progress. Right now you have the ability to help so many people,” he pleaded, knowing this would appeal to Hob’s programming.

She bit her lip, thinking about what she could offer up without fear of the consequences. If Hancock found out that his brother had been replaced by a courser, he might just march into the mayor’s office and blow the whole thing up right here and now. She considered her brief interaction with Marowski and remembered what had unexpectedly infuriated him. “I really shouldn’t be telling you this, Deacon, but I do know of another informant you could talk to. His name is Henry Cooke. He’s right here in Diamond City working as a bartender at the Colonial Taphouse.” 

The spy worked hard to quell his excitement. He breathed out a grateful sigh, fluttering his lashes. “Thank you Hob, really. Meeting you was kismet,” he whispered. Deacon studied her dark green eyes, which were full of disarming sincerity and warmth. A magnet pulled him forward and he found himself kissing Hob. As his soft lips lingered on hers, she instinctively closed her eyes, blushing deep red and feeling an unfamiliar twinge of desire in her belly. Deacon cradled her face, weaving his fingers into her hair and lightly rubbing her jaw with his thumb. His heart pounded and a quiet moan escaped him before he reluctantly broke apart from Hob’s lips. As Deacon stood up from the bed, Hob’s eyes were still closed and her eyebrows arched in dazed surprise. He ran a thumb across her moist bottom lip, causing her eyes to open, searching for him. Deacon smiled and winked at her before putting his sunglasses back on. He picked up his helmet and the moonshine and headed back downstairs. 

Piper made an immature hooting sound at him. “Oooh! So, Deacon, you have a nice time catching up with your girlfriend?” she asked, lightly elbowing Soosan in the ribs at their new inside joke.

He put his D.C. security guard helmet back on and bowed gracefully as if he was on stage, receiving a standing ovation for a sterling performance. “Ladies, it’s been a pleasant visit. We should do it again sometime. Goodbye Cait! See you later!” he shouted casually before leaving Piper’s home.

They waited until they assumed he had walked away before dissolving into a fit of laughter. Soosan called up the stairs, “Hey Caitie-poo! Come down here!”

Hob was still sitting in Piper’s desk chair, frozen in astonishment. She lightly traced the spot on her jaw where Deacon had touched her, his electric caress somehow marking her as his. Right now, she could only think of Deacon’s husky voice describing their meeting as kismet, his soft lips confirming it. Hob breathed out slowly, grateful he had not kissed her sooner. His kiss had the power to push Soosan and The Institute and the mission for Father far from her mind. A frisson of foreboding ran through Hob. She remembered that time in the Memory Den when Deacon removed his sunglasses and offered to protect her, fight for her, knowing full well that she was a synth working for the Railroad’s enemy. Letting things go farther would be a very bad idea.

She instantly made up her mind. The kiss had to be kept secret. 

Soosan’s shout jerked Hob back to reality. She stood at the top of the stairs and saw Piper and Soosan wiggling their fingers at her. “Oh my gosh, she’s blushing,” exclaimed Piper. “What happened up there? Were you two making out? What base did you get to?”

“What on earth!” exclaimed Hob as she descended the stairs. “We were just talking.”

Soosan rolled her eyes. “Mmhmm. A likely story.”

“No really. He was telling me about the stuff that transpired in Goodneighbor before we returned. What Fahrenheit needed to tell Hancock last night – they took down these chem dealers that intentionally target children.”

“Let me guess, Skinny Malone’s crew?” asked Piper. “The Triggermen are always up to no good.”

“Huh? No, this guy named Marowski. Who are the Triggermen anyway? Are they the ones with guns and fedoras?” asked Hob. 

Piper searched in a filing cabinet full of old articles. “They’re involved in organized crime. Some of the members are modern humans, but most are ghouls who were in the Boston mafia before the war. After the bombs dropped they took advantage of the chaos to become even more powerful. When I wanted to investigate the Triggermen in Goodneighbor, Hancock tried to block my efforts – but only superficially. Turns out he was suspicious of them and wanted my help. After poking around the warehouses I uncovered an assassination plot. You see, Hancock hanged the previous mayor of Goodneighbor – this asshole named Vic – but didn’t eradicate all those loyal to him. Some of those Triggermen wanted to retaliate and kill Hancock and ‘elect’ a different mayor. My evidence prevented this from happening. Hancock will always owe me one,” she said triumphantly.

Soosan rubbed her throat, looking disturbed. “Hancock hanged the previous mayor? Ugh. But why?”

“Vic was horrific, even for this world. He killed drifters and Goodneighbor citizens at random, without a rhyme or reason. Everyone lived in fear of the smallest slight setting him off. The Triggermen would retaliate on his behalf. Hancock may be a strung-out sex addict, but he always has a reason for executing someone.”

Hob understood this grim moral code. Surviving in the wasteland while maintaining a shred of humanity depended on it. “That’s noble in a way,” she said slowly. “When Finn and Wolfgang were harassing Preston’s group, Hancock punished them first. He only killed Finn after the idiot wasted his warning and tried to hurt Soosan.”

“That’s true,” said Soosan. “And he’s been so kind about paying for things, letting us stay in the Old State House, watching our backs. He is a good guy, deep down.”

“I think I should go look for him. Are you done with your interview?” asked Hob.

“Not quite, but we can finish it later,” said Piper. “Besides, I bet I know where Hancock is – drinking away his sorrows in the Dugout, like old times. C’mon girls.”

In the Dugout Inn, Piper was sweet-talking Vadim into telling her which room Hancock was in. He finally caved and gestured down the hallway to the left. Piper knocked on door number three, but didn’t wait for a response before barging in. “Hey Hancock! Rise and shine.”

The ghoul lay on the bed with one arm thrown over his eyes to block the dim light from his Psychojet hangover, and the other hand down the front of his unzipped pants. He grunted at Piper but didn’t say anything. Soosan winked at Piper before speaking in an alluring manner. “Hancock, if you keep sleeping, then I’ll just have flash you.” He sat bolt upright, eyes wide at the word “flash”. Soosan burst into laughter. She pushed his chest. “Ha! Tricked you.”

He grumbled and rubbed his forehead. “No fair sister, getting a man’s hopes up like that. Although waking up and seeing three beautiful women in my hotel room is a fine consolation prize.”

“Were you actually sleeping?” asked Soosan, sitting on the bed next to him. “I hope you were having pleasant dreams.”

Hancock smiled shamelessly as he zipped his pants up. “Yeah baby, I was dreaming about you.”

Soosan pulled him to his feet and sidestepped his innuendo. “Good! That means you know it’s time to get back to the task at hand. Let’s go see Nick Valentine. Since you two know each other I think it would be best if you introduced us.”

He put his disguise back on and stuffed the half empty Psychojet syringe in his pocket. “All right then. Time to go see Papa Valentine.”

As the group passed through the marketplace, Soosan sniffed the air hungrily. “Oh no way! You guys still have the ramen robots? My old law firm had one that came through during lunchtime. Let me guess, it only speaks Japanese? That was some cheesy gimmick by RobCo. A lot of Americans hated Asian people, but I’ll be damned if they didn’t want their Japanese food dispensed by a ‘Japanese’ robot.”

Piper’s jaw dropped a little. “You’re a veritable font of information, new girl. It would take a lot of persuading to get that tidbit out of a pre-war ghoul. I can’t wait to finish our interview.” 

“Just think, once we find Nahid, you’ll have access to twice the juicy life stories, and from someone much smarter no less.”

Hob shook her head. “Soosan, don’t say things like that.”

Soosan laughed and shrugged. “Okay, I’m no dummy, but who’s more useful in the apocalypse – a disgraced lawyer or a doctor?”

“Easy there, you’re talking to a disgraced journalist,” said Piper sarcastically as they headed down the short alcove leading to the Valentine Detective Agency. She ducked her head, barely avoiding the bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling, and knocked on the door. “Hey Nick! It’s Piper! Got a minute?”

The door squeaked as Ellie opened it slightly, appraising the situation. “Piper, oh, um, who are all these people?”

“Clients,” said Piper simply.

Ellie sighed. “Come in.” The group crowded into the cramped office area. “Hello everyone. My name is Ellie Perkins. I’m Nick’s secretary. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but the agency is closed. You’d find out eventually, so I guess there’s no harm in telling you the truth. Nick isn’t here. He’s…missing.”

Piper gasped. Hancock removed his wig and gas mask. “Jesus Ellie! How long’s Nicky been gone?”

It was Ellie’s turn to gasp. She clasped a hand over her mouth, studying Hancock’s face. “Johnnie McDonough? I mean, Mayor Hancock? How did you slip through the gate?”

“Never mind all that. What the hell happened to Nick? How long has he been missing?” hollered the ghoul, ignoring Piper’s frantic shushing. 

Worry lines etched themselves across Ellie’s forehead. “A couple weeks now. Nick was working a case. Skinny Malone’s gang kidnapped a young woman.” Hancock snorted upon hearing this name. Ellie continued, “Since his Triggermen no longer operate out of Goodneighbor, Nick tracked them down to their new hideout in Park Street Station. There’s an old vault down there they use as a base. I told Nick he was heading straight into a trap, but he just smiled, buttoned up his trench coat, and told me I had nothing to worry about.”

“We’ll find him,” said Soosan, pushing past Hancock and grabbing Ellie’s hand. “You have my word.”

“Thank you, miss – “

“Soosan. Soosan Calvin,” she replied, shaking Ellie’s hand. “I was hoping to employ Nick’s services, but I see the situation is reversed. Maybe after this I should open up my own detective agency.”

“Is there anything else you can tell us before we go?” asked Piper. 

Ellie’s lip quivered. “Not really. You know how the Triggermen operate. Those machine guns can tear through you in seconds. Just be careful, Piper. Do you want me to watch Nat while you’re gone?”

Piper nodded gratefully. “You know the drill. Make sure she brushes her teeth before bed. Ask Arturo for help if she gets unruly. She gets embarrassed at how well behaved Nina is by comparison.”

“Who’s Nat?” asked Soosan.

“My little sister, Natasha. She’s pretty self-sufficient for a ten year old, but I don’t like her staying alone when I’m off doing disgraced journalist activities.”

Soosan smiled. “Nat and Nahid, younger sisters extraordinaire. Okay gang, let’s get this show on the road. I remember passing by Park Street Station when Deacon was guiding us to Goodneighbor. Hopefully we don’t attract the attention of the Swan.”

Piper nudged her arm. “Look at you! You sound like you’ve been in this world all your life.”


	54. Crime Syndicates

As they descended the ramp to the Park Street entrance, Hancock was grousing about Skinny Malone. “I can’t believe I grew up in the same town as that lard-head. He and my brother were best friends, always hanging out together and throwing garbage into the town water supply. What a buncha clowns.”

“How did he get the nickname ‘Skinny’?” asked Piper, who already had an inkling about the identity of the guilty party.

“Yeah, yeah, that was me. I told you I was a little shit back then.” He avoided looking at Piper and Soosan. “It was one of those, ah, ironic monikers. His real name’s Albert, so I’m not sure which name is worse. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Both my brother and Skinny Malone had similar aspirations of running things by controlling people. Guy took the easy route and straight up banned ghouls from Diamond City. Skinny, on the other hand, keeps this little black book of names. Every time someone pisses him off, he puts a line through their name. Three strikes and they’re out.”

“I’m guessing your name is in his book?” surmised Soosan.

“You betcha, sister. If it wasn’t, then I would put it in there myself. Living free always pisses off mobster thugs who thrive in an atmosphere of artificially-created fear.”

Hob was forcefully reminded of The Institute’s strategy for controlling Diamond City. She supposed that creating a synth replicant of the mayor and driving citizens to paranoia was just a scientifically advanced version of running a crime syndicate. She remembered how proud Father had been when she figured out that the fear was the point, both a means and an end. Hob shuddered thinking about how easily The Institute had indoctrinated her, irrespective of her programming.

Inside Park Street Station, the group quieted down to eavesdrop on the conversation between two Triggermen. 

“I’m telling ya, joining Skinny Malone’s crew was the best decision we ever made. Look at this place,” said one. 

“I still say Malone’s weak. We caught that detective snooping around, and what’s he do? Locks him up, like he ain’t got the balls to just kill him,” remarked the other.

“Well don’t let his new girl hear that. She’ll start swingin’ that bat of hers at your face, until there ain’t no face left.”

Hancock barely breathed as they got close to the doorway. “Perfect. We got four Triggermen, one for each of us,” he whispered. “Soosan, you take the closest one with that Ripper of yours, Piper you go left, Cait you go right, and I got the middle.” They nodded and swiftly put their plan into motion, easily cutting down the four men. Hob checked that the bathrooms were clear and waved everyone on ahead. 

They started creeping down the stairs but Piper hesitated and tugged on Hancock’s arm. “The hairs on the back of my neck are standing up. I’d be willing to bet this place is booby trapped.”

“Shit, you’re probably right,” replied Hancock, squinting ahead. “Aha! There you are, you bastard,” he said, pointing at a bathroom scale. “See that, Soosan? They turned the scale into a pressure plate. You step on that, and a frag grenade drops from above or a makeshift bomb goes off.” He rested against the blue subway tile and peered around the corner. “Bingo. Bomb duct taped to the wall.” He disarmed the scale and then the bomb. “This means we’re close to a big group of them. Soosan, hang back. Let us do most of the dirty work.”

Piper smiled while listening to his plan. She produced a grenade from her coat pocket and tapped Hancock on the shoulder, grinning broadly. He nodded and gave her a silent thumbs-up. Piper pulled the pin and lobbed it onto the platform below. It exploded and chunks of concrete flew in the air. “That’ll get their attention. Draw them out like the rats they are,” she explained to Soosan. The ruse worked as intended. A dozen Triggermen emerged and fired at the stairwell.

During a reloading lull in the rapid rat-a-tat sounds, Hancock jumped to the platform and crouched behind an overturned Nuka Cola machine. Hob ran to the left, taking cover behind a large blue crate. Piper rushed forward into an ersatz bedroom, knocking out a Triggerman with her pistol. Soosan enviously watched all the excitement. She hovered behind the wall and popped her head up occasionally, counting the bodies. As the din decreased, Soosan crept forward and rifled through the pockets of the dead Triggermen, looting their corpses of ammo.

“Well aren’t you efficient,” remarked Piper, noticing Soosan. “Load me up with some 10mm rounds. I’m feeling a bit light over here.”

“These bastards never have any shotgun shells,” said Hancock, nudging the nearest body with his toes. “C’mon, there are an ass ton more guys to kill. Of this I am sure.”

They continued down the tracks until they reached dilapidated construction equipment. “Holy crap!” exclaimed Soosan. “I’d recognize that cog shape anywhere. If Nick is here, I guarantee you he’s being held hostage in that fucking vault.”

Her voice attracted the attention of the three Triggermen who hadn’t left their post in front of the vault controls. A volley of bullets rained down on them. Hob and Hancock reacted swiftly, killing the men.

“Thanks you guys,” panted Soosan. She fanned her hand, causing the waves around her face to blow gently in the self-made breeze. “A brush with death sure can get the blood pumping.”

“Among other things,” chuckled Hancock, surveying her flushed face with interest.

“It’s a good thing you’re here rescuing Nick,” said Hob, inspecting the door to Vault 114. “See those controls? We’ll need your Pip-Boy to unlock the door.”

“Wow, you’re right Caitie-girl! Remember when we left my vault and nearly got squished in the elevator?” Soosan laughed as she climbed the stairs and fiddled with the Pip-Boy remote link. “That seems like an eternity ago. It’s only been, what, a week?”

“Nine days,” said Hob.

“No way! How can nine days seem to stretch out longer than 200 years?” mused Soosan. “I feel like I’ve been on a strange vacation, chock full of sightseeing. I keep waiting to go to sleep and wake up back in my house next to Dougie.”

Piper and Hob exchanged a sad glance. The reporter opted to change the topic. “If this is what it takes to break in to a freaking vault, how did these numbskulls get their hands on a working Pip-Boy?” she wondered.

“I don’t know,” frowned Soosan. She gasped, “Maybe the Triggermen were the ones who murdered Dougie and kidnapped Shayan? There were plenty of Pip-Boys for the taking down in Vault 111.”

Hancock popped a couple Mentats. “No way, sister. Your vault is on the ass end of the Commonwealth, no offense. The Triggermen generally stick to the downtown Boston area. You know, nostalgia and all.”

“That makes sense,” said Soosan dejectedly. “Maybe one of these days we’ll figure out who killed my husband.”

“In all likelihood it was The Institute,” said Piper. “No one else around really has the means or the motive.”

“I just don’t want to dismiss any possibilities too hastily,” replied Soosan, adjusting her grip on Lionheart. “Come on now, chop chop. The sooner we rescue Nick the sooner we can find Nahid and get her input on all this. My girl’s wicked smaht.” Piper snorted at Soosan’s exaggerated Boston accent.

As they worked their way through the vault, out to a construction area, and back in to the vault, Hob was preoccupied, thinking not about Soosan but about Nahid. Once they found her – if they found her – how would this affect Hob’s mission to protect Soosan? What if Nahid was unconcerned about finding Shaun? Would Father grow impatient and change the mission parameters? Would Hob ever get to return home and free the real human Cait? 

“CAIT!” shouted a trio of voices. Hob blinked rapidly and looked around. 

“You sure get spacey, sister,” said Hancock, eyeing her suspiciously. “Everything all right with your noggin?”

“Sorry. Lost in thought,” she apologized.

“How about you get lost in thought when there aren’t gangsters in pinstriped suits firing machine guns at us?” said Piper snarkily. “Now that you’ve rejoined us on Earth, what do you think we should do about this giant hole in the ground?”

Hob peered down the opening. “Oh, no problem. I’ll go down first and try to swing to the next floor. I can help you guys, and then we can all jump to the bottom floor. Let’s just take it easy. Don’t rush.”

The plan would have worked, except Soosan did not pay it any heed. “I don’t need any help you guys!” she said, rushing over to the hole. She swung down to the floor below, but her legs flailed and bumped into a precariously perched ladder. Soosan lost her balance and fell on her back on the rubber mats of the lowermost floor, covering her face in time to protect it from the ladder that came clattering after her.

“Jesus! You okay, new girl?” asked Piper, peering over the edge. Soosan groaned from under the ladder, but stuck her thumb up in the air. 

Hancock shook his head. Privately he was astounded at this dumbass move, but he would never say this out loud to such a beautiful woman. “Even I’m not that impulsive,” he grumbled, gently tossing down his shotgun and swinging carefully to the ground. He pulled Soosan to her feet, spotted a nearby terminal, and eagerly began clicking through terminal entries. Piper went down next, followed by Hob, who was wondering what possessed Soosan to flout their plan.

At the terminal, the ghoul cackled. “Oh God, check this out. Vault-Tec is so fucking creepy. The designated experiment for Vault 114 was to take rich people, make them think they were living in some exclusive, VIP-only vault, and then stuff them into tiny rooms and force them to share and play nice with others. Vault-Tec even wanted the overseer to be someone with a strong anti-authority bias.” He laughed heartily. “What I wouldn’t give to have been a fly on the wall.”

Soosan came over and skimmed the terminal entry. She snorted derisively. “Charming. Rich people’s version of hell is just living like regular people, I guess.”

Hob thought about the differences between Soosan’s vault and this one, and looked around at the partially completed construction. “How odd,” she murmured.

“What?” asked Piper. “You lost in thought again?”

“Sort of. It’s just, well, I don’t know why this never occurred to me before. Vault-Tec poured billions of dollars into making these vaults, designing each one for the purpose of a different scientific experiment. I wonder…”

“What?” exclaimed Piper, growing frustrated with the drawn-out explanation.

Hob stumbled over her words. “I dunno, it’s just, if I had been in charge of Vault-Tec, I would be worried that all this money was on the line. If nuclear war never happened, then the vaults would never get used, and there’d be no return on their investment. I have to wonder if Vault-Tec did something behind the scenes to make sure the bombs got dropped, at least in areas where they had conveniently already built vaults.”

Soosan’s eyes went wide. “My God, Caitie-girl I think you’re on to something. Those absolute fuckers!”

Piper agreed with her. “If in doubt, follow the money. In my journalism experience, that’s the fastest way to uncover answers.”

“Well, it’s not just Vault-Tec though,” continued Hob. She was almost certain no one else could listen to them down here, but she felt compelled to lower her voice anyway. “Apply this same principle to The Institute, except instead of social experiments inside vaults, they conduct social experiments everywhere in the Commonwealth. Think about it. If you went to so much effort to make synthetic humans, you wouldn’t just pat yourself on the back for the accomplishment – you’d want to put them into action. So maybe they started small, like sending that guy to Diamond City to interact with locals. But then he goes haywire and kills a bunch of people.” She paused before confidently asserting, “I’m sure The Institute did not mean for that to happen. After all, it made them look like total amateurs.” 

Piper hummed in assent. “You’re right. From their perspective the Broken Mask Incident was downright embarrassing.”

Hob thought of Clayton Holdren and Liam Binet and Madison Li. Everything in The Institute seemed so orderly, the residents so rational and proud of their work. She went on, “I bet they wrote down the results of the Mister Carter experiment, fine-tuned their synths, and then tried again. Since the procedure follows the scientific method, the people working on this stuff get lulled into a false sense of ethics. Maybe that’s why The Institute could do something like kill Soosan’s husband and kidnap her nephew. They’ve been so warped by the supposed objectivity of their experimentation mindset that it never once occurred to the majority of Institute scientists that their actions were morally wrong.”

Hancock had swallowed five Mentats over the duration of Hob’s discourse. When she finished he whistled. “Wow. That’s quite a theory, sunshine. A lot of food for thought.” He tried to remember everything she said, wishing he had Deacon’s steel-trap memory.

Soosan was staring at Hob in admiration. “Caitie-girl you’re so smart. Thank God I have you by my side. The only question that remains is where is The Institute located? If we don’t know where they’re at, then how do we find who killed my husband? I deserve my revenge.”

Piper and Hancock exchanged a glance. “Maybe when we find Nicky you can ask him that,” said the ghoul. “For now, let’s keep moving. It’s kinda quiet around here, which makes me suspicious.”

The group continued down the hallway. Soosan looked longingly at the abandoned tools littering their path, but she reminded herself that Sturges had plenty to work with back home in Sanctuary. She didn’t want to carry unnecessary wrenches and ball-peen hammers all over creation. As they opened another door, they heard a man taunting someone through the window of the overseer’s office. “How you doin’ in there, Valentine? Feeling hungry? Want a snack?”

A cranky voice responded, “Keep talking meathead. It’ll give Skinny Malone more time to think about how he’s going to bump you off.”

“Don’t give me that crap, Valentine. You know nothing. Ya got nothing.”

Hancock whispered to the three women. “Hey I know that guy. Name’s Dino. Another D.C. reject. He’s Skinny Malone’s right hand man, a real piece of work.”

Valentine continued his strategy. “Dino, I saw him writing your name down in that black book of his. ‘Lousy cheating card shark’ I think were his exact words. Then he struck through the name three times.”

Dino’s voice quivered. “Three strikes? In the black book? But I never…oh no! I gotta smooth this over, and fast!” He turned and ran from the overseer’s office, down the stairs, and towards the exit. But before he got to the door he spotted the edge of Hancock’s letterman jacket disguise. Bullet holes appeared in the wall behind the group. Hob fired and hit Dino’s right arm, while Soosan rushed out and sawed through his kneecap with Lionheart. He crumpled to the ground, howling in pain.

“What did you do to Nick Valentine?” shouted Soosan, brandishing her Ripper at him.

“Nothing, I swear to ya!” wailed Dino, rocking back and forth while cradling his stump. “He’s up there, totally unharmed. I have the password to the office in my pocket.” His shaking hand produced a piece of paper while he continued to scream and cry. 

Hancock walked up and calmly blasted Dino in the head. “That’s what happens to guys who kidnap my friend.”

They stepped around the body and continued up the stairs to the overseer’s office. Hob caught a glimpse of Nick Valentine through the window and chills ran up her spine. The detective was silhouetted in the darkness. All that was visible were two glowing yellow eyes that seemed to pierce right through her. “Hey you, I don’t know who you are, but we got about three minutes before they realize ol’ muscles-for-brains ain’t coming back. Get this door open!”

Piper quickly typed in the password on the nearby terminal and opened the office door. She rushed in and gave Nick a friendly hug. “Valentine! Are you all right? Did the Triggermen hurt you?” She inspected his trademark trench coat for new blood spatters.

He chuckled, “Thanks doll. I’ve been cooped up here for a couple weeks, but I’m okay. I love the irony of the reverse damsel-in-distress scenario. And I see you brought backup. I’d recognize the swagger of Johnnie McDonough anywhere.”

Hancock grinned and slapped Nick on the back. “Hey ya pops, how’s it hanging? Heard you were getting cozy in this ol’ vault. What, ya need a taste of the old world?”

Nick smiled briefly. His yellow eyes fell on the figures lurking in the doorway. “Piper, John, do you want to introduce me to your friends?”

The ghoul cleared his throat and waved the two forward. “Yes of course. Nicky, meet Soosan and Cait. Soosan is new to the Commonwealth, and Cait here is her knight in shining armor.”

Soosan summoned her best middle-class manners, shaking Nick’s cold metallic hand while pushing away the desire to give him a funny look. “Let me guess, you’re one of those synths everyone has been telling me about?”

He sighed. “I know the crumbling skin and exposed metal parts aren’t comforting, but it’s not important right now. The only thing that matters is why you four went to all this trouble to cut me loose?” 

Soosan responded, “First of all, your secretary Ellie was very worried about your safety. We promised her we’d find you. Second, I’m the one who would like to employ your services. I was frozen right after the bombs dropped, briefly woke up to see my husband murdered in front of me and my nephew kidnapped, and now I’m looking for my sister who is supposedly alive and likely living as a ghoul.”

Nick wasn’t often rendered speechless by a client’s request, but Soosan’s story boggled his mind. “Somehow ‘nice and simple’ never makes it onto the menu in my world. You know what, let’s save the hairy details for when we get out of this damn vault.” He jogged off, shaking his head slightly. 

The group followed, but Hancock hung back next to Hob. “Hey sunshine, why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

She noticed him grinning at her. “Oh I see, this is all very funny to you.” She lowered her voice. “I suppose you were looking forward to my reaction at him being a synth? Bully for you,” pouted Hob. She was distracted by Hancock and nearly ran into Nick, Piper, and Soosan, who were crouched next to a doorway. 

“Hold up! I hear some of them coming,” said Nick, straining to count distinct footsteps. “There’s three of ‘em, on the other side of commissary. How do you want to play this?”

“Guns blazing!” shouted Soosan, pulling the trigger and spinning Lionheart’s chainsaw. She ran out screaming like a banshee, spooking the Triggermen. 

“That’s not a gun, sweetheart!” said Nick, following her and firing at the men across the room.

“Malone’s gonna have your guts for garters!” screamed one of the attackers as he charged at Soosan, who promptly decapitated him.

Hancock puffed with pride at Soosan’s bravery. “Be still my heart,” he swooned, placing a hand on his chest.

“I wouldn’t expect a pre-war dame to be so adept at killing,” commented Nick. He jerked his head toward Soosan. “Where’d you find this gal?”

“Before coming here to rescue you I was interviewing her for a new article,” said Piper, stifling a laugh at the ridiculousness of the bloody scene before her. “Trust me, she’s a hoot and a half.”

Nick grumbled, “And a liability too. Let’s just get out of here before Skinny Malone comes back.”

The group wound through half-finished bathrooms and bedrooms, dodging baseball swings and machine gun fire. At one point, Soosan ducked into a kitchen area, drawn by the lure of several boxes of Sugar Bombs. Hancock tried to scold her, but he was instantly distracted by a crate full of whiskey.

“Just leave it, you two!” yelled Nick as he pistol whipped a particularly robust ghoul Triggerman. He stepped over the corpse and rounded a corner, shoulders slumping at the sight in front of him. “More stairs? Who designed this damn vault – a fitness instructor?” Hob frowned as she watched Nick jog ahead, wondering if his synthetic parts weren’t as resilient as hers.

Back near the entrance to the vault, Nick stuck the sharp metal of his right index finger into the manual override box. He paused before finishing the final click and spoke over his shoulder. “Turns out the runaway daughter I came here to find wasn’t kidnapped at all. Darla is Skinny Malone’s new flame, and she’s got a mean streak. By now, she and Skinny and the rest of his boys are probably waiting for us on the other side of this door. Consider them all armed and dangerous.”

Soosan set the pack down and readied Lionheart. Nine days into her new reality she was positive the imminent interaction would be bloodshed rather than diplomacy. Nick released the door, put his gun in the pocket of his trench coat, and preemptively raised his hands in the air. Piper and Hob followed suit, but Hancock and Soosan did not.

“Nicky, what’re you doin’? You come into my house, shoot up my guys, embarrass me in front of my girl? You have any idea how much this is gonna set me back? Now I gotta do damage control,” opined the mobster.

“Nice to see you Albert. You oughta tell Darla to write home more often. I wouldn’t be here if her parents weren’t worried sick about her,” replied Nick, maintaining his composure. “Apparently gun moll is a more attractive career choice than farmer’s daughter.”

Darla sneered, “Aww, poor little Valentine. Ashamed you got beat up by a girl? I’ll just run back home to daddy, shall I? Put my hair in pigtails and play Brahmin milkmaid instead?” Soosan snorted at this comment, drawing a death stare from Darla.

“Shoulda left it alone Nicky. This ain’t the old neighborhood. In this vault I’m king of the castle, you hear me? And I ain’t letting some synth shut us down now that I finally got a good thing goin’!” bellowed the mobster. 

Darla had been scowling at Soosan. She turned and smacked Skinny Malone upside the head. “You big galoot! I told you we shoulda just killed him! But then you had to get all sentimental. All that stupid crap about the ‘old times’, about your pal Nicky from D.C. who helped you out of tight spots when you got caught. You’re not a kid anymore, Skinny. Playtime’s over.” 

“Darla I’m handling this! I’ve always got things under control.”

She gestured at the group with her baseball bat. “Oh yeah, then what are these freaks doing here? Valentine must’ve brought ‘em here to rub us all out!”

Soosan made a face. “Ugh, gross. I don’t want to rub any of you people.” Hancock laughed and gave her a high five, imitating her action with Hob at Med-Tek Research.

“Oh I shoulda known,” said Skinny Malone, his eyes crinkling with derision. “If it ain’t ‘Scrawny Johnnie’ McDonough. But wait, I got a better one – how about Mayor Hand-on-cock? You like that nickname?”

Hancock stepped forward from the back of the group and glared at the mobster. “Easy there, Skinny. You keep being clever and your brain will shut down from strenuous exertion.”

Skinny Malone gestured with his machine gun. “Hey, who’s running this show? You got something to say? Say it to my face!”

The ghoul lifted up his shotgun and blasted a hole through Skinny’s face. “I’d rather show you.”

In the split second before chaos broke out Nick moaned, “Dammit John!” 

Skinny’s Triggermen bodyguards scattered away from Hancock, who was cackling as gleefully as he had when fighting the mirelurk hunters in front of the Poseidon Energy Turbine. Piper slid on her knees, smacking the bodyguards in the shins with her gun, while Nick hid behind a column and aimed, taking careful shots at the men.

Darla screamed maniacally, lunged at Soosan, and swung the bat at her head. Soosan grabbed the bat and stopped it from hitting her head, but the force instantly broke several delicate bones in her left hand. She tried to maneuver Lionheart at Darla, but the gun moll was stronger than she appeared. Darla held Soosan’s forearm and thrust the weapon away. The Ripper buzzed loudly before making contact with the right side of Soosan’s face. Hot blood immediately gushed over her face and into her eye, blurring her vision. 

From the doorway, Hob aimed her laser rifle perfectly. She blasted a hole in Darla’s temple. The heat from the laser ignited Darla’s hair as she fell to the ground. Soosan angrily stomped out the fire, crunching Darla’s skull beneath her feet and muttering, “Take that you crazy bitch.”

Hob picked up the pack and rushed over to Soosan, who swayed a little before clumsily sinking down to the ground. Hob opened a can of purified water and washed the blood off Soosan’s face before applying a stimpak. Soosan winced at the pinch. “Fuck. Don’t let me encounter any mirrors for a while.”

“Health first, vanity second,” chided Hob.

Piper, Hancock, and Nick had finished off the Triggermen. They came over to gawk at Soosan. While Hob applied a stimpak to the broken left hand, Piper crouched down and held Soosan’s right hand to distract her. “Well, I think you popped your cherry. You’re gonna be sporting a pretty badass face scar. I’d say you’re officially no longer ‘new girl’. How about I call you the ‘suit slayer’ instead? Or maybe the ‘bone crusher’? ‘Darla Destroyer’?”

Soosan groaned, “Caitie did all the work, Piper.” Behind her pink-cheeked embarrassment she was actually quite pleased. Taking on Darla felt even better than zooming down the expressway on her motorcycle Elvis the Pelvis. The anarchy of the wasteland satisfied something dark that had been buried deep inside her, hidden away out of suburban self-preservation.

Hancock dug in his jacket pocket and pulled out a Med-X syringe. “I found this in that room with all the whiskey and Sugar Bombs,” he grinned. “Want some?” She nodded and squeezed her eyes shut at the throbbing pain pulsing through her hand. Hancock injected a small amount of Med-X. “Hey, hold your hand up above your heart. That’ll help.”

Nick was standing behind everyone else, hands in the pockets of his trench coat. He couldn’t frown, but his voice did it for him. “I don’t know what to make of you, Soosan. You’re an impulsive spitfire, but for some reason I don’t mind having you on my side. It’s strange having another pre-war person here with me. Shall we head back to my office so you can tell me how the hell you leapt two centuries into the future?”

Hancock interrupted, “Actually Nicky, I think I’ve had enough of Diamond City to last me another five years. How about we head back to my town, I ditch this ludicrous garb, and we can have a drink or three in the Third Rail while making Soosan retell her tale yet again?”

Soosan nodded, clasping a hand to the side of her head at the pain that flared. “Besides, I’ll need Daisy to wash the blood off these clothes. I don’t want the stain to set on this nice white shirt.”

Piper snorted, “You are a riot, Soosan. I can’t wait to finish that interview.”


	55. Femme Fatale

Back in Goodneighbor, Soosan had extricated herself from the bloody black suit. She wiggled into the blue Vault 111 suit and spun around in front of Hancock’s mirror, checking out her backside. “God it’s weird putting this thing back on. Like I’m stepping back in time.”

Hob was sitting cross-legged on the floor, organizing the contents of their pack. She had dug down to the bottom and was surprised to find the music holotapes Soosan had stolen from the jukebox in the Cambridge Campus Diner. Piper sat on the edge of Hancock’s bed swinging her legs back and forth. “Have you caught a glimpse of yourself yet?”

Soosan sighed. “I should probably just get it over with, shouldn’t I? The problem is I didn’t grow up in an era when women were allowed to have any blemishes, much less gigantic scars on their faces. It’ll be hard to shake that internal bias.”

Piper stood up and grabbed her hand, leading her to the bathroom. “I promise it won’t be bad. Besides, we’ve got different standards of beauty here in 2287. Having a scar like that shows that you can fight and survive. Nothing’s more attractive than being fierce. If anything, you’ll be even more in demand. I know Hancock kept sneaking glances at you on the way back.”

Soosan took a deep breath and inspected her face in the cloudy mirror hanging above the chipped ceramic sink. Her eyes widened in surprise, causing a dull pain to bloom on the right side of her face. Her fingertip traced a thin scar which ran from outside the end of her eyebrow, over her cheekbone, and trailed outward to her jaw, ending near her earlobe. She tilted her head back and forth, watching the sheen of the scar change in the dim light. Soosan sighed, accepting the scar for what it was. She then inspected her dark curls, counting the new gray hairs that had sprouted out of her temples. “Jeez, I’m 28 years old. But right now I’m the spitting image of my Baba.” She played with her hair in front of the mirror, lifting it up and then letting it cascade down her back. “Nahid always looked more like our mother, but I definitely take after my dad’s side. Eldest daughters often do.” She frowned, watching her thick eyebrows and forehead wrinkles transform her into her father. Soosan turned on the sink and wet her hands, attempting to tame her frizz as she walked back to Hancock’s bedroom.

“That reminds me, um, do you know what happened to your parents?” asked Piper quietly, thinking about how much she missed her own father.

Soosan froze. “Shit. No. No I don’t.” Her insides squirmed with guilt. “Fuck. I never even thought about it until now. I’ve been so caught up with burying Dougie and searching for my sissy and putting out other people’s fires.”

“Where were they when the bombs dropped?”

“Every year when the weather started getting cold they went on a cruise somewhere warm, usually in the Caribbean, but sometimes in the Mediterranean depending on the geopolitical situation. But this year, I mean back in 2077, their trip was canceled because the cruise company couldn’t secure enough diesel for their monstrous ships. So instead my parents flew out to Las Vegas. I don’t know why old people love gambling, but hey it’s their money. Do you know what happened out there on the west coast?”

Piper shook her head. “At some point maybe we could check the old Boston Bugle building, see if there are any extant articles that might give us a clue.”

Hob interjected, “I’m sure Soosan remembers the government crumbling and the president fleeing to the oil rig off the coast of California. If the bombs were targeting important sites in the United States, then the west coast certainly got pummeled.” She recalled Kellogg’s note on The Institute terminal. “I don’t exactly know when, but sometime in the last century there has been a government out there called the New California Republic. So maybe the people across the country have gotten their act together compared to the Commonwealth.”

Soosan frowned. “Maybe this is just the lawyer in me talking, but why isn’t there a normal government nowadays? It’s been over 200 years. Surely that’s enough time to set aside differences and come together to return to normalcy?”

Piper chuckled darkly. “Funny you mention that. I’m gonna sound like I’m beating a dead horse, but The Institute is at fault for that as well.” Hob had stopped repacking their bag, listening intently. She had never heard this story before. Piper continued, “Remember how the Broken Mask Incident occurred in 2229? That’s when everyone realized The Institute was a seriously creepy force to be reckoned with. A few years later, representatives from settlements across the wasteland met outside Diamond City to hash out the creation of the Commonwealth Provisional Government, or CPG. Now, this idea had been floating around for a long time, but in the 2230s the right people were involved and committed to making it happen. For whatever selfish reason, The Institute decided to torpedo these efforts. They sent a disguised synth who slaughtered everyone. The event is known as the CPG Massacre. After that, no one dared try to create a government again, which explains the current state of affairs.”

“What the everloving fuck?” exclaimed Soosan. “You know what? The Institute sucks fat hairy balls. I’ve about had it up to here with them,” she said, gesturing at her chin before balling her uninjured hand into a fist. “Has anyone tried to take them down?”

“Plenty want to, but remember that no one can figure out where the hell they’re located,” said Piper.

“Someone must know,” moaned Soosan. She headed down the spiral staircase and towards the Third Rail. “I wonder if Nick could help?”

The group nodded at Ham on their way into the converted subway station. In the Third Rail, they looked around for Hancock and Nick, but saw only drifters. They pushed open the door into the VIP room, where a properly dressed Hancock was telling Nick a dramatic story, full of exaggerated gestures.

“You boys having fun?” asked Soosan, smiling and sinking into one of the red couches.

“I’m having a great time now that you’re here,” said Hancock, winking at her. “That tight little vault suit is a sight for sore eyes.”

Nick coughed sarcastically. “Rein it in, John.”

“What, can’t I compliment a beautiful lady?” he asked, pretending to be offended before taking Soosan’s hand and kissing the back of it. She laughed and nervously pulled her hair forward to cover her new scar. Piper may have thought Hancock liked the scar, but Soosan wasn’t yet convinced.

The detective rolled his eyes like an exasperated father. He had watched John McDonough grow up. He remembered that even as a kid Hancock was a natural flirt. The boy instinctively knew how to draw others into his world and get them wrapped around his finger. He made eye contact with all the visitors to Diamond City, showing them around town as if he were already a mayor. He flattered the old ladies of the upper stands, offering his arm and walking them home at night. On more than one occasion Nick had to intervene, talking down the angry spouses of people Hancock had seduced. The old detective desperately tried to stop him from skipping town after Geneva became pregnant, but it was no use. Hancock was as stubborn as he was bewitching. But as Nick watched Hancock flirting with Soosan, he couldn’t help but wonder if there was kernel of sincerity there. He adjusted his fedora. “So Soosan, apparently you’ve rehashed your tragic tale a dozen times at this point, but would you do an old man the honor of repeating it once more?”

Piper got her notebook out and flipped to the beginning of Soosan’s interview. “Go for it, pretty lady,” she said, her pen poised above the paper, ready for fact checking.

As Soosan once again recalled the day the bombs dropped, slowly becoming used to the horrors she witnessed, Hob quietly got up and went out into the main bar area. She sat on a bar stool in front of Whitechapel Charlie, patiently waiting for him to finish tending to other customers before taking her order. “Mayor Hancock says your drinks are on his tab. What’ll it be, love?” asked the Mister Handy, cleaning a glass in the meantime.

Hob remembered Deacon mentioning a cocktail name once. “Can I try a dirty warhead? What’s in that, anyway?”

The robot made a disapproving tut. “I dunno if you can handle that. Bit of a lightweight, ain’t ya? It’s got Nuka Cola Quantum, vodka, whiskey, gin, and a splash of radscorpion venom. Still want one?” he asked nastily.

Hob shook her rapidly. “No way. That sounds terrifying. Um, what do you recommend?”

“We just received a few cases of Deezer’s. It’s a lemonade made with mutfruit and some other things. No idea what.” Charlie began mixing ingredients, deciding for Hob what she should be drinking. “Here you go, Deezer’s with vodka.”

Hob took a sip. “Oh that’s delicious. Thank you. Maybe you should give it a proper name. Ooh how about the Dirty Deezer? Every cocktail around here seems to start with the word ‘dirty’.”

“Why don’t we leave cocktail names to the mixology experts,” said Whitechapel Charlie disdainfully, adjusting his bowler hat and hovering away toward another customer.

Hob bit back a sarcastic comment. She thought about returning to the VIP room, but the sight of Hancock shamelessly flirting with Soosan didn’t appeal to her. Instead, she picked a chair close to the stage. Hob enjoyed Magnolia’s sultry voice, the upbeat song, and the fruity tasty of the cocktail. A man sat down near her and tapped his foot in rhythm with the music. Hob did not have to turn her head. The goosebumps running down her arms demonstrated that she already knew who it was. Her mouth curved upward into a smile, giving the impression that she was smiling at Magnolia. “Deacon.”

“Sweet cheeks.” Hob heard a scraping sound as Deacon scooted his chair next to her. “How’s it hanging? Heard you rescued Nick Valentine from Skinny Malone’s gang. Not many people knew the old detective was missing, much less kidnapped.”

She took another sip of her drink and finally turned to look at him. He was wearing his tan drifter get-up, matching his location as usual. “But you knew he was. It’s like I always say – you know everything.”

He chuckled, narrowing his eyes ever so slightly. Something was different about Hob. She seemed more self-assured than usual. He felt the urge to play with her a bit. Deacon reached over and grabbed her drink out her hand, imbibing the sweet lemonade. He smacked his lips. “Mmm. Delectable, succulent. Just like you.” He handed it back to her, letting their fingers brush. The glass seemed to conduct electricity between them.

Hob rolled her eyes but a grin played on her mouth. “Did you take my advice about the man I suggested you talk to?” She spun the straw between her fingers and mixed up the cocktail, causing the tiny ice chips to clink against the glass. Hob took another sip, holding Deacon’s gaze.

He watched her mouth leave the same spot where he had just taken a sip, followed her tongue as it cleaned up the juice that had flowed forward over her top lip. Deacon swallowed and tried to concentrate. “I did, thank you. Your involvement has given my organization quite the momentum over the last couple days. I really wish I’d met you sooner. Maybe,” he trailed off, thinking about the Switchboard disaster, “Let’s just say there are a lot of people who might still be alive right now.”

She grimaced and put her hand on his. “I’m sorry to hear that. This may come off as an insensitive question, but what exactly does your organization do? I know your ideology, but how do you actually help synths?”

Deacon scratched his forehead, thinking. He realized Magnolia had stopped singing and the bar was full of lively chatter. “Instead of telling you, why don’t I get someone who can explain from personal experience?” He pulled his hand away from Hob’s and strode over to the singer, touching the small of Magnolia’s back. His hand roamed, squeezing her side as he whispered in her ear. As Hob watched this scene unfold she felt a flutter of jealousy in her stomach. She ogled the singer’s ruby red dress, then looked down at her own drab leather clothing. A sinking feeling of inadequacy twinged in her chest. 

Deacon and Magnolia returned to the table. “Mags, I’d like you to meet Cait. Cait, this is Magnolia – the mistress of music, the seraph of song, the thrill of the Third Rail.” 

Magnolia shook Hob’s hand and sat down next to her, pursing her lips. She leaned closer than Hob wanted, invading her personal space. “There’s something special about you, isn’t there? Don’t tell me. Let me guess.” She tilted her head, studying Hob’s face. “Ah. It’s your eyes. Quick and intense. I bet you never miss a detail, hmm?” The singer preened, running her fingers through her silky black hair. “Like what you see?”

Hob smiled politely, dodging the question. “I like your voice. That last song had interesting lyrics. What was the part about the cyclone?”

“My favorite verse, honey. It goes: ‘Like a cyclone, wild and extreme / I got my mind blown, stalking your dreams / Waking up without a clue / Cause baby, it’s just you.’ How perceptive of you to zero in on those lines,” said Magnolia. “Rather fitting given our topic of conversation.”

“Cait, you wondered what the Railroad does.” Deacon gestured up and down Magnolia’s body. “Well here you go, our most beautiful success story. I’m sure Mags would be happy to answer your questions.”

Hob’s jaw dropped slightly. Between Magnolia, Deacon’s wife Barbara, and her, Hob decided that synths were almost magnetically drawn to Deacon. Maybe this was the “magic dick power” MacCready had been complaining about earlier. She pushed Deacon out her mind for a moment and focused on what she could learn about The Institute. “I guess the main question is how did you escape? How did you end up as a singer here in Goodneighbor?”

Magnolia reached over and grabbed Deacon’s hand, rubbing her thumb over his knuckle. “This wonderful man right here helped me escape.” Hob watched their easy physical intimacy and clenched her jaw. Magnolia shrugged. “To be fair honey, I don’t remember the niggling details, which is of course part of the deal. But based on what I’ve been told after the fact, I was specially trained as the first female courser, a femme fatale tailor-made to seduce people and extract secrets. Apparently I targeted Railroad agents, eventually leading astray a handsome fella named Mister Mathers. The information I discovered led to the downfall of the Switchboard – that’s the Railroad’s previous headquarters – a year ago.” Hob looked at Deacon to confirm this, but his sunglasses obscured the sorrow in his eyes. Magnolia cleared her throat. “I’m not proud of any of that, obviously. Something must’ve been short-circuiting inside me, however. After the dust cleared Deacon found me in their HQ, sobbing and surrounded by bodies.”

“Mags was truly remorseful, which is completely unheard of for a courser. I brought her here to Goodneighbor to see Doctor Amari. The brain scan showed crazy high levels of oxytocin, which explains her empathy burst during the HQ massacre. Amari reversed the polarity of the memory lounger’s neural assembly in order to wipe the majority of Magnolia’s memories. Then Irma generously donated memories of her youth to kick start Magnolia’s new life.”

Magnolia smiled wistfully and touched her décolletage, drawing Deacon’s eye. “I think of Irma as a mother of sorts. After all, she made me who I am today.”

Hob felt the same gut punch as when she discovered that her vestures had been made out of real people. “Holy. Shit. The Railroad wipes synth memories? What the hell is wrong with you people?” Her voice shook with anger. “How is a memory wipe different from murder?”

Deacon grabbed her wrist and shushed her. “Keep your voice down. Don’t attract unwanted attention.”

Hob yanked her arm away and spoke through gritted teeth. “Don’t tell me what to do. What, if I get too loud you’ll haul me over to Amari and have her obliterate my memories?”

“What on the earth?” replied Deacon, confused. “Absolutely not. Just calm down and I can explain.” 

Hob fumed. “Well? Go on then.”

Deacon took off his sunglasses. “Magnolia’s story is unique. Most synths we help are escapees found wandering the wasteland. They somehow get separated during The Institute’s scavenging missions. We’re not sure who helps them break free,” he lied, “but a lot of them have basic knowledge of the Commonwealth. Many end up near Bunker Hill, where we rescue them and escort them to safe houses. Cait, we don’t usually do the memory wipes. Most synths don’t ask for that. Only the ones who are terrified of knowing too much about The Institute and want plausible deniability will go to Amari. It’s always their choice. Okay? Does that alleviate your fears?”

Hob snorted contemptuously. “I suppose. I guess the process is more like suicide than murder, but it’s still horrifying that you even have the technology to do that.”

“We didn’t used to. Before Amari came here bringing the loungers from the Capital Wasteland, we had to make do. But memory wipe or no, the main goal is to ferry vulnerable synths out of the Commonwealth and away from the clutches of The Institute. And now, I guess, the Brotherhood of Steel.”

Magnolia pinched the bridge of her nose. “Shit. The Brotherhood? That’s not good honey.”

“You’re damn right it’s not good. Their imminent arrival is why the Railroad has to work harder than ever to find escapees and protect them from being recaptured by The Institute, and now from being hunted down by the Brotherhood as well.” Deacon put his sunglasses back on. “Thankfully we’ve made some progress, but it’s still going to be an uphill battle.” 

Magnolia stood up, smoothing the wrinkles in her red dress. “I need to get back to my set. But it was lovely seeing you again Deacon.” She kissed his cheek delicately and then turned to Hob. “And it was nice meeting a fellow ‘working girl’ like myself. If you have any more questions you know where to find me, darling.” She sauntered back to the stage and projected so the whole bar could hear her. “This next song is a crowd favorite, and it goes out to a special member of the audience. You know who you are.” She smiled and winked at Deacon, who grinned back at her.

He tore himself away from the singer’s eye contact and looked at Hob, who was sitting with her arms crossed, a sour look on her face. His grin died and Deacon coughed uncomfortably. “Sorry about that. She’s an old friend. We haven’t chatted about Railroad business in a while.” Hob said nothing and continued sulking. He scooched closer to her. “Hey, I said I’m sorry.” 

“You sure know how to make a girl feel special,” she harrumphed. 

Deacon internally berated himself for slipping up. Hob was a more valuable source of intel than Magnolia. Why did he have his priorities backwards? He tried to explain. “Mags is literally cut from the same cloth as Irma. They’re both naturally flirty people. The physical contact doesn’t mean anything, I swear.”

Hob kept pouting. “What MacCready said earlier makes a lot more sense now.”

“What, about people’s hearts going pitter patter when they see my bald head?”

Hob gasped loudly. She jabbed a finger into his chest. “You motherfucker! You followed us, didn’t you?” She remembered the candid conversations in front of the energy turbine. “Did you hear all the campfire stories?” she asked, realizing in horror that if Deacon was spying on them then he would have heard Soosan’s “Caitie loves Deacon” ribbing. Hob wanted to crawl into a hole and die of embarrassment. 

“Wait a second, it’s not what it seems,” stuttered Deacon, putting his sunglasses back on. Once upon a time, he considered himself to be a suave spy, a man who gallivanted around the Commonwealth, as free and unattached as the wind. He wasn’t used to fucking up so badly. Somehow, Hob made the logical parts of his brain turn to jelly.

She huffed and got to her feet. “I’m going back to the VIP room. You might as well come with me instead of lurking in shadows, eavesdropping on private conversations!” Hob stomped off, hoping Soosan had finished her story by now.


	56. The Split

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a logical point to stop updating while I finish the next section of the story. Don't worry! Several chapters have already been written. They just need to be polished.

Hob stood still, listening hard outside the door to the VIP room. Deacon grabbed her upper arm. “Will you stop running away from me? I just want to explain.”

She clasped a hand over his mouth and pinned him against the wall. “Quiet. Listen.” They both strained their ears, trying to filter out the tinny music from the speakers and the chatter from the crowded bar. Deacon mumbled something under Hob’s hand. She frowned and shushed him. “Something’s off,” she whispered. “When I left this room earlier, I definitely did not close the door. Soosan doesn’t care if people hear her story. Hancock’s not one for privacy. So why is the door closed?” Deacon mumbled something again. “Oh,” she said, removing her hand from his mouth.

“I said, do you have your weapon with you? No, of course you don’t. It’s probably back upstairs in the Old State House. You were lulled into a false sense of security because this is Hancock’s town. If you were really serious about keeping Soosan safe you’d have your laser rifle on you at all times.” Deacon pulled a 10mm pistol out of his pocket. “Stay behind me.”

He slowly opened the door to the VIP room and crept down the short hallway. Piper sat on the nearest couch, breathing hard with her hands raised in the air. She made eye contact with Deacon and Hob, her eyebrows raised in a subtle plea. She almost imperceptibly jerked her head to the right. Deacon’s finger hovered over the trigger. He took another step into the room and saw the reason for Piper’s distress.

A man with shaggy hair was holding Hancock at gunpoint. 

The ghoul casually looked in Deacon’s direction and smiled, feeling his usual bravado return. “Ya know what, Sammy, you’re right. About everything. I did have A.J. and Marowski whacked. They were getting too big for their britches. From time to time I gotta remind people who’s in charge in this town. And it’s not you.”

Deacon fired one bullet, hitting Sammy in the back of the head. He and Hob rushed into the room. “What the hell is going on in here?” asked Hob, kneeling next to Soosan and holding her face tenderly, checking for any new injuries. “Are you guys all right?”

Soosan exhaled shakily. “We’re fine, now that you’re here. Where were you Caitie? You disappeared.”

“Getting a drink. I figured you didn’t need me while you were retelling your story for the thousandth time. I’ll never make that mistake again,” said Hob, who could scarcely believe that she almost let Soosan come to harm.

Piper raised her eyebrow. “And you just happened to run into Deacon? What a coincidence.”

“It was,” said Hob. “Honest. We were discussing Railroad stuff.”

“And that scintillating conversation was enough to distract the best spy in the Commonwealth? I can hardly believe that someone as observant as Deacon failed to notice a would-be assassin in the Third Rail,” said Nick dubiously.

“Sometimes I have off days,” snapped Deacon. “Besides, Cait and I were talking to Magnolia as well. It’s not like Cait intentionally distracted me so I wouldn’t see some drifter prowling around, hoping to assassinate Hancock.”

The ghoul was looking down, surveying Sammy’s body. “I don’t know. She might have.”

Everyone raised their eyebrows in shock. “John, what are you getting at?” asked Nick slowly.

Hancock dug his fingers into the hole in the back of Sammy’s head. He fished around and pulled out a sphere of shiny plastic, holding it out for everyone to see. “Hey Deeks, what does this look like to you?”

Deacon’s eyes went wide. “Holy shit. He was a synth?” Soosan and Piper sprang up to get a better look at the piece of technology. Hob’s eyes briefly flicked over the part. She had seen ones just like it in the Robotics division of The Institute.

“He didn’t used to be,” said the ghoul, pacing back and forth, rolling the synth component between his hands. “Last time I spoke to Sammy he was no different than the other Goodneighbor drifters who hang out up there by the Rexford. Sometime in the last couple days The Institute replaced him and sent him to kill me. Probably as revenge for taking out Marowski.”

“Hancock what are you talking about? I thought you handled Marowski because of some old Triggermen dispute,” said Soosan, bending down to inspect the hole in the back of Sammy’s head. “What does The Institute have to do with it? Why are you implicating Cait in all this?” 

Hancock gestured at Hob. “This one’s on you, sunshine.”

Soosan grabbed Hob’s hand. “Caitie-girl? What’s he talking about?”

Hob swallowed. She remembered how she wiggled out of the time when Hancock and Deacon accused her of being a Brotherhood spy. The only antidote to feeling trapped was to tell the truth. She took a deep, steadying breath and made eye contact with Soosan. “When I was keeping lookout on top of the Poseidon Energy Turbine, Hancock told me that A.J. and Marowski aren’t regular chem dealers – they intentionally get children hooked on drugs. The idea of people targeting children, manipulating them, it infuriates me. Absolutely shakes me to my core. I can’t explain why. It just does. Hancock said when we got back to Goodneighbor he was going to…deal with them. But I knew that would be a bad idea. I tipped him off about the fact that those two men are informants for The Institute. Fahrenheit didn’t kill them. She turned them over to the Railroad for questioning.” 

Hancock avoided Nick’s gaze, shooting Deacon a significant look instead. Soosan frowned, unsure if she understood the significance of Hob’s statement. Piper fixed Hob with an intense, withering stare that set the vesture on edge. The silence stretched out for longer than Hob was comfortable with. “Is, is anyone going to say anything?”

“Cait, how do you know the identity of Institute informants?” asked Piper. She tried to keep her cool, but her voice was sharp with suspicion. 

Hob walked over to Hancock and took the synth component out of his hand, rotating it while choosing her words carefully. “I wasn’t born. I was created.”

Soosan took a step back from Hob. “No.”

Hob sighed and moved toward her. “Soosan, I’m so sorry. I made you believe a lie.”

Soosan creased her brow and took another step back. “No, Caitie, no. It’s not true. It can’t be.” She held out a shaking hand, stopping Hob from coming closer. Her other hand wiped her face automatically. She paused, staring at her dry fingertips. The shock of Hob’s confession prevented her from dissolving into tears the way she usually did when stressed. 

“It is the truth. I promise. I’m a synth, a creation of The Institute. Somewhere inside my head is a plastic part like this one.” She twirled the shiny synth component and watched it sparkle in the light. “My body is made of polymer, my brain is essentially a computer. I’ve been programmed to operate based on a certain set of rules, foremost among them being to protect humans, but above all to protect you. Soosan, you’re my mission, the whole reason I’m here. Your safety is my top priority. You’re all I think about.”

“Don’t listen to it,” said Piper, putting an arm around Soosan. “It’s trying to confuse you, to get your sympathy. Don’t let it.” 

“If I may?” interjected Nick. “You all may find this surprising, but I know what it’s like to be a synth. Piper, you better lighten up on the bigotry. Hancock, Deacon, I’ll get to you two in a minute. Miss Cait, I have a couple questions for you. Around the Commonwealth, we generally only know someone’s been replaced after they start acting weird and end up with a bullet to the head, just like ol’ Sammy. Do you have any proof that you’re synth? Who did you replace?”

Hob sank into one of the couches, still twirling the synth component between her fingers. She was hoping the others would follow her lead and relax a bit too, but they remained standing, watching her closely. “It’s complicated. Underneath, I’m kind of like you, Valentine. I’m guessing you’re a second gen?”

“More or less,” he replied. “I’m some kind of discarded prototype. Due to the particulars of my situation I’m shaky on the specifics.”

“Okay, we’ll just assume you’re a second-gen synth, which looks more like a robot. Sammy was a third gen, meaning a human replicant. I am unique – the first fourth-generation synth.” 

Piper made a sound of astonishment. “It was only a matter of time,” she muttered.

Hob ignored her. “My exterior may vary, but I’m always the same underneath. I’m always me. I don’t replace anyone, okay?” Deacon listened hard for any inconsistencies in Hob’s story. “I don’t malfunction and start murdering innocent people in broad daylight. It’s not a part of my programming. Soosan could tell me to shoot Hancock right now and I wouldn’t do it because there’s no danger to her life. Are we all on the same page? I’m not a threat to you. Piper, do you understand?” The reporter grumbled but said nothing. Hob turned to Nick. “Does that answer your question?”

“I suppose. My next question is why did you release Soosan from her cryo-pod? Were you acting on The Institute’s orders?”

Hob looked at Soosan, wishing she was close enough to hold her hand. “Yes. They sent me there for a reason that I can’t divulge.”

Soosan paced, anxiously tugging at her eyebrows. “You’d better start talking. Now.” 

Hob rubbed her temples. “I can’t, it just, well it just wouldn’t make sense.”

“Why not?” asked Soosan, raising her voice.

“Because you’re not who The Institute thought you were!” said Hob, exasperated.

Soosan frowned at the others. “What? Who exactly did they think I was?”

“Your sister.”

Deacon’s eyes widened. “Holy shit. The Institute mixed them up? Was Nahid was frozen in a different vault and you were supposed to protect her instead?”

“No. Nothing like that. All of The Institute’s assumptions were based on incorrect records. It’s the Vault-Tec salesman’s fault.” She paused, looking around at the group. She thought at least Soosan would understand what she was getting at, but no one said anything. Hob groaned at how explicit she would have to be. “The salesman misspelled Shayan’s name and marked him down as your son. As I hinted to you back in Sanctuary, there are plenty of reasons why someone would kidnap a pre-war infant, namely that he was born into a world without widespread nuclear fallout. From a scientific standpoint, his genes are a potential goldmine.”

Piper clenched her fist triumphantly. “I knew it! I knew The Institute kidnapped Shayan. Any time anything goes wrong, it’s always The Institute. I fucking knew it.”

Soosan glared at Hob. “So you’re telling me you work for the same organization that murdered my husband and stole my nephew? And I’m supposed to trust you after all this? Why Cait? Why would I do that?”

“Because I’m the only one that knows your true identity, your actual relationship to the boy.” Hob moaned in frustration. “Agh, this doesn’t make sense to you all. I have to start back earlier. Their original plan for me was to release you from the vault. That’s it. But I begged to stay with you for longer. Wandering the wasteland is terrifying if you don’t know what you’re doing. The Institute had just put me through a similarly traumatizing experience. They agreed to let me protect you, but only on the condition that there be no communication between The Institute and me. No big deal. I thought I would open the cryo-pod and you’d say ‘Oh my God Cait! They kidnapped my son! Help me find him!’ and then we’d set off to find him. But that didn’t happen.”

Deacon interjected, “Of course. Mama Murphy.”

“Exactly. I still don’t understand how or why that woman has The Sight, but her vision set you on the path of finding your sister instead of Shayan. That is not what The Institute planned for. But I can’t communicate with them, so I had to go with the flow. And even then, we’ve been distracted helping other humans with their problems. That’s noble and all, but not what I was sent here for. I’ve been improvising this whole time, hoping that if we found your sister that maybe she would want to search for her boy.”

“I still don’t see why I should trust you,” said Soosan, folding her arms. “Even if The Institute wanted me because they thought I was Shayan’s mother, why would they kidnap the baby and leave me behind? That makes no sense.”

Hob sighed again. “I know. You’re right. Like I said, the issue is faulty records. Recently The Institute uncovered the truth of what happened that day. The person who did it wrote a report saying that everyone in the vault was dead. The Institute scientists didn’t know any different.”

“Kellogg,” said Nick through gritted teeth. “That bastard.”

“What on earth? Why do you think it was him?” spluttered Hob.

“From Soosan’s description of the murder. Scary bald guy with a scar, metal arm brace, and a penchant for unnecessary violence with a large caliber revolver? That’s Kellogg all right.”

“Holy shit!” exclaimed Piper. “He was in Diamond City recently, in the company of a tall guy named Thomas and young boy named Shaun.” She turned to Soosan and jiggled her arm excitedly. “That must be him! Your nephew! What the heck was he doing with the same guy who kidnapped him? Do you think Kellogg raised him as his own kid?”

“Let’s ask Cait. She has all the answers apparently,” said Soosan, putting a hand on her hip.

Hob looked at Deacon, who gave her a small shrug. “Um, no. I’m sorry. That wasn’t your nephew.” She rubbed her face, figuring that at this point there was no harm in revealing yet another Institute secret. “That boy was actually a synth. Don’t get me wrong, he’s delightful, but he’s not human.”

Hancock goggled at her. “God almighty, sunshine. The Institute’s expanding to all sorts of new synthetic territory. What the fuck’s the point in creating a kiddie synth?”

“I don’t actually know the answer for that. It seems like I’m giving you guys tons of information, but you should be aware of how much I don’t know. I mean, jeez, I’m not even a month old. My time at The Institute was highly structured. I went where they told me, when they told me. I didn’t have free time to just wander around. That only happened once and I discovered some very unpleasant terminal entries. I’m not sure how to explain what it feels like inside me. I’m absolutely horrified at many of things The Institute has done in the name of science, and progress, and harmony. But they created me and gave me a life mission to protect humans. I understand why you’re scared of me, Soosan, but even though I’m a synth you should give me a chance. When Deacon and Hancock found out, they were shocked too. Since that first visit to Goodneighbor I think I’ve shown them that a synth can be trustworthy.”

Deacon slapped a hand to his forehead. Hancock swore loudly.

“Jesus Christ!” shouted Soosan, whirling and pointing at them angrily. “Are you shitting me right now? Did you two know about this?”

Piper strode over and slapped Deacon. “You absolute moron. You knew Soosan was traveling with a synth this whole time and you never bothered to tell her? What’s wrong with you? Mark my words, that little liberation organization of yours has warped your brain. Human lives come before synth lives, always!” 

“Easy Piper. Take a breath,” said Nick, overlooking her last comment. “I was planning to ask John and Deacon some questions. They’ve been shooting each other little looks during this whole conversation, being so transparent they might as well have spoken the words out loud. How long have you known the truth of Cait’s identity?”

Hancock shrugged. “I dunno. A couple weeks. We had our own suspicions about some Brotherhood involvement, but obviously we were way off the mark.”

Nick rolled his eyes. “Right. Those lug nuts are the next problem to deal with. But for now, Piper has brought up a good point. Why didn’t either of you bring the truth to light?”

“It seemed too dangerous. Besides, Soosan just woke up from cryo-stasis. She’s pre-war for God’s sake. The wasteland is overwhelming enough for those of us born and raised in this shit heap, much less someone who remembers how the world used to be all in one piece,” said Deacon angrily. “There’s never a perfect time to reveal information like this. The truth gets out, and we all have to deal with it. No take backs. So what are we doing, hmm? How are we all going to handle this?” 

Piper held Soosan’s hand. “You’re the one feeling betrayed, honey. What do you want to happen now?”

Soosan looked around at the faces staring intently at her. “Fuck! I wish I could rewind to when we walked through that door and do this all over again, completely differently.”

“If that was possible, life would be a lot easier. But it’s not gonna happen, doll,” said Nick kindly. “You’re in charge. Whatever you say, goes. We’ll honor your wishes.”

Hob continued to sit on the couch. “Soosan, I have to protect you. I can’t do that unless I’m by your side.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I’ll be lost without you.”

Soosan channeled the memory of her parents’ disappointment upon discovering her involvement in Nahid’s divorce. She took a deep breath. “You should have thought of that before. Loyalty is very easy to lose, and very hard to earn back.” She glared at Hancock and Deacon. “The same goes for you two. I can’t trust you either. Right now, the only people who haven’t lied to me are Piper and Nick. C’mon guys. You’re with me.” Soosan motioned for them to follow her.

Hob cried out, “Wait!”

“No Cait. Don’t follow me. If you do I’ll kill you,” said Soosan fiercely, slamming the door behind her.


	57. Eye Lightning

Hob swayed on the couch, tears streaming down her face. Deacon and Hancock sat down next to her. “Welcome to the other side, sunshine,” said Hancock, inhaling a puff of Jet. He offered Hob the canister. She reached out to take it, but Deacon slapped it out of her hand.

“Cheer up, buttercup,” said Deacon, wiping the tears from her cheek. “It’s a minor setback. No need to turn to drugs.” He leaned back and glared at Hancock.

“Come to think of it, all you need is a good night’s sleep. In the morning you’ll be right as rain,” said Hancock hastily. 

“I don’t require sleep,” said Hob coldly, sounding oddly like X6-88. 

“That’s handy,” said Deacon. His jolly tone grated on Hob’s ears. “Because I have some people I’d like to introduce you to.”

“Fine.” Hob rose mechanically and walked to the door.

Hancock tugged on Deacon’s sleeve and jerked his head at Hob’s back. “Hey. She gonna be all right?”

Deacon grimaced. “I don’t know. Are you? Not every day you face an assassination attempt.”

The ghoul took another hit of Jet and stood up, stretching casually. “I’m feelin’ good, brother. Might have to go out there and find a companion for the night, assuming Soosan’s gotten her crap out of my bedroom. A man’s gotta alleviate some near-death tension, ya know?”

“Well, don’t wait too long to investigate the neighborhood watch. Sammy got snatched and replaced, and the watch either didn’t notice how different he was acting, or they did and let it slide – maybe as revenge for the Marowski takedown, or because The Institute already infiltrated them. Both options suck.”

Hancock rubbed the back of his neck. “Fuck. You’re right. Most of my guys are ghouls, but maybe The Institute can do a full synthetic ghoul by this point.” He fingered the combat knife in his pocket. “Time to go be the big, bad mayor. You better get going too. Your girl has disappeared without you.”

Deacon sighed and strode out of the room. He scanned the bar but saw no redheads in the crowd. He jogged up the subway stairs and outside into the night. Hob was sitting on a bench by the Third Rail, staring across the courtyard to the arched sign for Scollay Square. Deacon sat down next to her, twiddling his thumbs. “Ah, the Memory Den. Good times.”

Hob could not muster the hollow laugh that echoed inside her head. “Hmm.”

“We’ve come a long way since Hancock marched you down there and Amari poked around inside that head of yours.”

“Hmm.”

“Hob, you should know that telling Soosan the truth was incredibly brave. Take it from me, a known liar and general piece of shit. People lie because it’s easy. But facing someone you were sent to protect and owning up to your true identity? That’s hard.”

“I failed. They’ll send a courser to extract me. It’s only a matter of time.”

“No way, sweet cheeks. I’m not letting that happen. It’s like Hancock said, you’re on the other side. You’re one of us now. A real wastelander.”

Hob frowned. “How so?”

“Because someone you love threatened to kill you,” said Deacon simply. He shrugged and stood up. “Happens all the time. C’mon. By now Soosan has taken your stuff. If she’s decent she left you your rifle.”

Hob rose and followed him up the spiral staircase to the second floor of the Old State House. As Deacon predicted, the pack was gone. But Soosan had left behind Hob’s rifle, a small pouch of fusion cells, and the duffel bag pilfered from the Gunner corpse in the Old Granary Burying Ground. As she rummaged through the bag, Hob’s eyes caught a colorful glint. She picked up two holotapes, one green and the other purple. They were inscribed with “The Twist” and “You Don’t Know Me” – the songs from the Ball Swatters’ respite in the Cambridge Campus Diner. Hob sniffed back more tears, handing the holotapes to Deacon.

He whistled. “That tricky minx. She stole these for us?” He smiled and tucked the tapes in his inner coat pocket, patting it gently. “Since we’re in a truth telling mood, I hope you know that was one of the best days I’ve had in a long time.” 

The confession snapped Hob out of mentally replaying the conflict with Soosan in the VIP room. “What? Seriously? But you,” she hesitated as the heartbroken confusion of that day came flooding back, “You got all weird and pushed me away, and then when we arrived in Goodneighbor you bolted. Even Hancock didn’t know what to make of it.”

Deacon absentmindedly tugged on his earlobe. “I never did apologize for how that must have looked. It’s dangerous for a Railroad spy to get close to people, especially someone with your Institute background. Plus, it’s not like I…have fun? It’s just not part of the job description. I couldn’t relax if you paid me. But now that we’re going to be traveling together, and you don’t require sleep, then you can keep watch while I catch some Zs. Though to be fair I haven’t gotten a proper night’s rest since I was –” Deacon broke off. “Oh shit. I’ve never gotten good sleep.” He tittered. “Well that explains a lot.”

Hob was stuck on his earlier comment. “We’re going to be traveling together?”

Deacon headed back towards the staircase. “Of course. I’m not gonna abandon you in your time of need. Besides, like I said earlier, it’s time for you to meet some very important people.”

They headed north out of Goodneighbor, passing by the Old Corner Bookstore. Haymarket Mall was already repopulated with raiders, but Deacon and Hob killed them easily, taking advantage of the cover provided by night. She looted a couple frag grenades from the corpses. Hob poked her head through a gap in the scaffolding around the building, but Deacon pulled her back. “No way. You don’t want to go over there. Faneuil Hall is a no-no. It’s overrun with a particularly resilient pack of super mutants, including several suiciders. Give that place a wide berth.”

Hob shivered. “I can’t believe The Institute is responsible for creating super mutants. What a waste of perfectly good human beings.”

Deacon hesitated, but offered up another truth. “Yeah, I know, I, um, overheard your conversation with Blamco in front of Cricket’s stall in Bunker Hill.” 

Hob shook her head in exasperation. “So from now on I should assume you’ve been everywhere I have?”

“Like I mentioned earlier, Bunker Hill is central to our synth protection operations. I was there on Railroad business.” He raised three fingers in the air and put his other hand on his heart. “Scout’s honor. When I saw your group come through, I thought I’d shadow you guys. Just in case you needed help. It scared the bejesus out of me watching you get attacked by those mirelurk hunters across the river. I fired off a couple successful shots without you guys noticing. Soosan was distracted, trying to keep MacCready from melting.”

“Oh. Well thank you for your assistance. Things there got kind of out of hand,” said Hob, thinking not about the mirelurk attack but about her impulsive rooftop intel reveal to Hancock.

They curved north and then back east through the ruins. Deacon crept through an alleyway along the side of a tall brick building. At the front, he gestured to the statue of Paul Revere in front of a modest church. “Ta da! Welcome to the Old North Church.”

“Wait a second. I remember you mentioning this place after leaving the Pickman Gallery. You said it was important during the War for Independence and that there’d be a history quiz later.”

Deacon chuckled, giving her finger guns. “You just got 100% on that quiz, daddy-o. Another piece of trivia for you – this happens to be the location of the present-day War for Independence.” Hob shrugged at him. He made impatient hand motions. “The war to free ourselves from The Institute’s control. C’mon smarty pants, ya gotta put two and two together.”

“Ah. Of course.” Hob’s memory jogged. She looked up, suspicious of watcher crows. “But Deacon, haven’t you just endangered your organization? The Institute will see that I’m here.”

“You are right to be concerned, cutie pie, but I’ve been scoping out the tops of buildings since we left Goodneighbor. Zilch,” said Deacon, making a “zero” shape with his hand. “I’m guessing the crows followed Soosan, wherever she fucked off to. The Institute only has so many resources. When push comes to shove, they don’t care about you. They only care about getting their grubby mitts on her. You were just a means to an end.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry about it, baby cakes. In fact, it frees you up to do some actual cool stuff that will help humans and synths alike. I thought about bringing you to HQ via our secret, damp back entrance,” he bit back a laugh at the innuendo, “but I’m pretty sure Dez would have my head on a pike for that. So we’ll enter the legit way. Just gotta kill a few ferals first.”

As the pair entered the church, neither of them noticed a small gray cat watching them from the alcove of a nearby building.

As they cleared out half a dozen feral ghouls on the main floor, Deacon observed Hob’s fighting style. She was a better shot than first- and second-gen synths he’d encountered; in fact, he had never seen her miss. Unlike third gens he’d worked with she definitely didn’t seem excited by killing. Her pupils didn’t dilate, and her movements had a rote, almost apathetic quality to them. 

Hob stopped to reload before they headed downstairs to the crypt. “What?” she asked, catching Deacon staring at her.

“Oh, nothing. Just wondering who trained you to fight.”

“I wouldn’t call it training. I had a bit of target practice before my first visit to the Commonwealth. Why do you ask?”

“It’s hard to explain. Your fighting style seems…bored? All the reflexes are there, like you’ve done this a million times, but mentally you’re off sipping cocktails on Nordhagen Beach, or reading a book at the Walden Pond scenic overlook.” Deacon shrugged. “It’s hard to describe.”

Hob chuckled. “That’s odd. I don’t have a lot of fighting experience. You know how Soosan is. During our travels together she’s done the majority of the combat, especially up close. I was just there for backup. Maybe my programming has combat skills built right in?”

The pieces clicked into place. Deacon chuckled, “I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. Maybe it’s those womanly curves of yours. You move and kill like a courser.”

Hob’s eyes widened. “But they’re so, um, emotionless,” she said haltingly.

“I’m sure that’s by design. They’re murder machines who recapture escaped synths. I think having a heart would be detrimental to their mission, like what happened with Magnolia.” As Deacon spoke, a flash appeared in front of Hob’s eyes. She winced and grabbed her forehead. “Hob? What’s wrong?”

She groaned. “Not sure. It’s like there was lightning in my eyes. It’s hard to describe.”

Deacon eyed her cautiously. “That’s not good. We should press on. I think Doctor Carrington might need to give you a check-up.”

They continued down the stairs and into the crypt. Ominous splatters illuminated the floor. The ghostly green caused the red brick to appear a sickly brown color. “What the hell is this? Fog?” asked Hob, whose forward movement caused little clouds of moisture to swirl around her feet. 

“There’s a burst pipe somewhere that leaks down here, creating the perfect conditions for fog. When we first moved in a glowing one emerged from one of these wooden coffins. Don’t know what the hell made it so sticky, but it left this disgusting green residue everywhere. Between that and the fog, we figure it’s a spooky deterrent to people who might wander into the bowels of the church, not knowing we’re operating right behind these walls.”

Hob shot a feral that lurched at them from behind a column. “I see. And how did these ghouls end up here?”

“When the bombs dropped, a lot of pre-war people rushed to houses of worship, hoping they could get in one last good word with the big guy upstairs.”

Hob looked up at the ceiling. “Who?”

Deacon snorted. “Never mind, pumpkin. We can have a spirited religious debate later. For now, we’ve come to the entrance.” He busied himself spinning the rings of the gold Freedom Trail emblem. An electric buzz went through the red wires and connectors, causing an archway to appear in the red brick. The false door hissed and slid to the right with a heavy scraping sound. 

Hob followed Deacon into the dark. “Um, what’s – ” There was a pop and the room was flooded with light. Hob threw a hand over her face, shading it from the fluorescent assault. 

Deacon moved in front of Hob, blocking her from the construction light. “Dez, turn that down. She just had some sort of problem with her eyes. Carrington needs to check her out.”

Desdemona ignored his request. “You went to a lot of effort to bring her here, Deacon. But before we go any further she needs to answer some questions,” she said sternly.

Deacon put his drifter hat on Hob’s head, pulling the brim down. “Is that better, pookie?”

Hob nodded and then looked at the people standing behind Deacon. “What a warm welcome. I take it these are your colleagues?”

Glory adjusted her grip on her minigun. “That’s right baby. We’ve heard a lot about you. But before we let you into our exclusive little club, we want to get to know you better. See if this’ll be a good fit.” She winked and clicked her tongue.

Hob squeezed an eye shut, surveying the three figures in front of her as best she could while ignoring the throbbing pain. “Fine.” She took a step forward, still clutching her head.

“Easy, newcomer,” warned Drummer Boy, readying his pistol. “Stay right there.”

Hob sighed impatiently and looked at Deacon. “What have you told them about me?”

“I said you’re kind of a big deal. They’ve known about your synth status for a while, but we haven’t caught up on the specifics.”

“Whatever. Might as well tell everyone everything at this point.” Hob scratched her forehead, thinking of how to summarize the entirety of her existence. “Dez, is it? My name is Hob. I’ve been alive for about a month now. I’m a fourth-generation synth, which means I wear a changeable humanlike vesture over a second-gen frame. The Institute sent me to Vault 111 to unfreeze a pre-war woman named Soosan Calvin. During her cryo-stasis she briefly woke up, only to see her husband murdered and her nephew kidnapped. My mission was to help her adjust to life in 2287, but unfortunately we had a falling out a couple hours ago. Apparently, humans don’t like it when you lie about being a synth. Reasonable, but it still hurts to get dumped. I’m here now because Deacon took pity on me,” she finished. Deacon made an offended scoff behind her.

Glory’s eyes went wide. “Ah,” was all she could muster.

Desdemona put a hand on her hip. “If what you say is true then that’s very interesting. You could be a valuable asset to the Railroad. We’re the only ones brave enough – or stupid enough – to fight The Institute. If you provide us with inside knowledge, we have a real chance at taking them down.” She sighed while a battle between ideology and pragmatism raged inside her. “Deacon, are you vouching for her? We don’t have time to train a new agent. If things go wrong, and by that I mean when things go wrong, I’m blaming you.”

“Sure thing, boss,” he replied, saluting her.

“Very well. I’ll go wake up Carrington so he can examine Hob. After the exam, go see PAM about the next mission. Hob, you should tag along with Deacon. Get a feel for our operation. Welcome to the Railroad.”


	58. Project Bimini

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bimini is in the modern-day Bahamas, rumored in the sixteenth century to be the location of the Fountain of Youth.

“I’m cold,” whined Soosan, tugging at her vault outfit. “I’m not used to traveling at night. I wish I changed into my little black suit before we left. The ballistic weave was so warm.”

Nick ignored her complaint and offered her his hand, pulling her up over the pile of rubble. “Careful. Don’t break your ankle.”

Piper looked over her shoulder. A string of lights outlined the entry to the Combat Zone. She shook her head. “So Cait lied about fighting there. It makes sense now that I think about it,” said Piper, remembering how Hob hung back from close combat when Skinny Malone and the Triggermen started firing at them in Vault 114. “But she did kill Darla for attacking you. That’s something at least.”

“Yeah, only after that baseball bat broke my hand and my Ripper got shoved into my face. Real quick synth reflexes,” grumbled Soosan. 

They followed Nick east, past boarded-up restaurants still advertising oysters and barbecue, until they reached the side of a metal wall. Nick peered around the corner, spotted a Gunner, and motioned for Piper and Soosan to wait. He aimed carefully, easily hitting the Conscript in the head. Unfortunately, the gunfire attracted the attention of a turret, which in turn alerted the other Gunner lookouts guarding the entrance to Mass Bay Medical Center. “Oh, just perfect,” groaned Nick.

Piper took cover behind a toppled refrigerator. “Bad time to be down a sniper,” she groaned, firing at a Gunner Private but missing. She crept towards the Gunner barricade, waving Soosan and Nick over and pointing at the upper floors of the hospital. “They’re up above us!” she whispered.

“On it!” said Soosan gleefully. She snuck around the barrier to the metal staircase, adroitly climbing every other step. Soosan sawed through the throat of a Gunner Lieutenant before he had time to raise his laser pistol. She crouched behind a wall of sandbags, hiding from the turret’s biometric scanner. She was steeling herself to run up to the turret when she heard a scream of pain from the ground.

“Soosan, get down here!” yelled Nick.

“What is your major malfunction, maggot?” barked a gruff military voice.

“Oh fuck,” muttered Soosan. She slunk back down the stairs and saw Nick hiding behind a stone column to dodge a flame aimed at him. The last thing she wanted was to tango with a Mister Gutsy. Dougie had told her how invincible his unit felt when they received a Colonel Gutsy in Anchorage, in recognition of their bravery against the Red Menace. She readied Lionheart, wishing she had kept Hob’s laser rifle so she could avoid close combat situations like these.

Nick popped out from behind the column, trying to line up a shot. “Any time now, sweetheart!”

Soosan roared and burst forward, holding her Ripper aloft. The Mister Gutsy’s eyestalks swiveled, spotting its new target. As it lifted its saw blade Soosan dropped to her knees. She sliced off the robot’s deadly appendage and threw her arm over her head for protection. The turret had caught sight of her. It pivoted and rained 5.56 rounds at the back of the Mister Gutsy, shredding its combat inhibitor. The robot collapsed in a heap on the ground.

The detective rushed out and grabbed Soosan’s arm, yanking her away from the turret’s line of fire and back toward the cover of the hospital entrance. “Quick thinking, ace. But right now I need you to get that pack open,” he said, nodding in Piper’s direction. She was leaning against a metal barrel, whimpering and putting as much pressure as she could on her upper arm.

“Oh shit,” said Soosan, panting and opening the bag with trembling fingers. “I, uh, I’m not super great at injecting people. Can you do it instead? When MacCready got that acid burn earlier I don’t think I did it right. His arm didn’t heal as fast as it should have.”

Nick thrust the stimpak back toward Soosan. “No time like the present for improving survival skills.”

“Somebody figure it out! Now!” yelled Piper impatiently, squeezing her eyes shut at the throbbing pain in her bicep. Soosan spread the rip in the journalist’s signature red jacket, took a deep breath, and injected half of the stimpak. Piper calmed down almost immediately.

“See, there ya go. Not bad, kid,” said Nick, lighting a cigarette and returning his flip lighter to an inner pocket of his trench coat. “Feeling better, Piper?”

She got to her feet and wiped the sweat from her brow. “I am. That was a close one. Nice job tricking that Mister Gutsy with the turret. Always clever to have someone else do the dirty work for you.” Piper examined her new scar, pouting at the tear in her leather jacket. “Aw man. Gotta patch this again.”

“Later. For now, it’s time to investigate this medical center. Soosan, do you recall what floor your sister worked on?” asked Nick.

Soosan chewed her lip. “No, actually,” she said, pushing down the feelings of guilt. “Nahid was a trauma doctor, so maybe the floor connected to the I-93 freeway ambulance bay?”

“It’s a start. Let’s see what we’re working with.” Nick pushed open the doors to the medical center. He spotted a group of Gunners sleeping in the old hospital café. He made a “shh” motion and waved the two women off to the right. He placed his lit cigarette in an ashtray, crouched in front of the receptionist’s terminal, and quietly typed in possible passwords. Nick activated the nearby Protectron, choosing to keep its Law Enforcement personality. He stood tall and held up his hands, appearing as neutral as possible. The robot scanned him, Soosan, and Piper before lumbering off.

“Ooh, you’re useful to have around!” said Soosan appreciatively. “I think – ” She abruptly stopped talking. A Gunner Assaultron had leapt down from the second floor directly above them and went tearing after the Protectron. With a loud hum, it activated its head laser. In a matter of seconds, the Protectron was reduced to a pile of smoldering ash. The Assaultron’s intense laser beam penetrated all the way to the café, accidentally burning the sleeping Gunners to a crisp as well. 

“Knees!” shouted Nick. Soosan slid forward and sliced through the Assaultron’s right knee. It collapsed to the ground, flailing wildly. She dodged its frantic head motions, bashing Lionheart into the back of its neck as best she could. “Soosan, outta the way!” yelled Nick. She leapt off. He and Piper fired repeatedly at the back of the robot’s torso. A blue arc of electricity appeared and the Assaultron’s body seized before going limp, smoke rising from its combat inhibitor. 

Soosan crumpled to the ground, exhausted. “Jesus Christ you guys. How did the Gunners manage to hack a freaking Assaultron of all things? And what the hell else is here in this medical center?” 

“That’s a great question,” said Piper, rummaging through their pack for a couple Nuka Colas. She handed one to Soosan and popped the lid of the other. “I’m guessing there’s something major here, like a cache of medical supplies or powerful chems.”

“Or perhaps something more sinister,” mused Nick.

After a quick break, Soosan was back on her feet. The group headed up to the second floor. Piper showed Soosan how to pick a lock using a bobby pin. The journalist crouched in front of the corpse locked inside the Gunners’ makeshift jail cell. “Poor bastard.” 

“That’s sick,” said Soosan, wrinkling her nose at the decomposing body. “Who was this? Why do you think they did this to him?”

“No idea, and no real reason,” said Nick grimly. “They killed him because they could. They’re animals.”

Soosan coughed away the nausea and climbed a makeshift ramp to the third floor. “Now I see why Deacon said the Gunners aren’t actually mercenaries. They’re basically just raiders dressing up in green military costumes.”

On the fourth floor Nick kicked aside the broken shards of a flower vase. “Must’ve been a madhouse around here after the bombs. If Nahid indeed survived I bet she saw the immediate reality of nuclear war, in all its brutal glory. I wonder if helping irradiated patients fast tracked her path to becoming a ghoul.”

Soosan pushed the elevator button. “Oh God. I never thought about how Nahid’s profession of saving lives might have ended up endangering hers. Being a doctor seems so noble. I’m pretty sure the day Nahid graduated from med school at C.I.T. was the happiest day of my parents’ life – the grand fulfillment of the whole reason they uprooted their family from Iran and brought us here to America.” As the elevator whirred upward Soosan bit the inside of her cheek, trying to control the old familiar jealousy that flared up within her. She pushed it back down into her guts.

On the radiology floor, Piper gasped. “What is this, some kinda torture chamber?” She stepped forward slowly, inspecting giant metal rings surrounding a skeleton. 

“Um, no. That’s an MRI machine,” chuckled Nick. Piper’s confused face prompted him to add, “Stands for Magnetic Resonance Imaging. Patients would lie inside the tube so the machine could scan their internal organs. No need to slice anyone up to take a peek.”

“I can’t imagine such luxurious technology,” said Piper. “I think Doc Crocker might cry at the thought of an MRI. Takes all the fun out of being a wasteland surgeon.” She wandered over to the technician’s console, eyeing the orange HAM radio sitting on top. “Hey look, a holotape! It says, ‘To Wayne, from Bonnie’. Bring that Pip-Boy over here. Let’s listen.”

Soosan inserted the holotape. A woman’s worried voice played: “Wayne, I’m leaving this message with Marcie in case you come looking for me, though I pray you don’t. The military took over the hospital and everything has gone to hell in the city. Things here, they’re…it’s bad, Wayne. People are dying every day and most of the time all we can do is watch and try to make them comfortable. One of the other nurses told me she heard a radio signal that sounded like you and the boys. I don’t know if it’s true, if you’re still out there, but we’ve got a way out and I’m going to try to find you.”

Piper chewed her lip. “How awful. I’ve never actually heard the voice of someone alive right after the bombs dropped. I wonder if this woman ever reunited with her family. Though that would be a happy ending, so I’m guessing not.”

Nick lit another cigarette, thinking hard. “So the military took over the hospital, eh? I smell a rat.”

“It’s not so hard to believe,” said Soosan. “With all the chaos people would have needed the military to bring order and prevent fighting in the hospital. Otherwise it would have turned into a free-for-all over medical care.”

The detective exhaled a puff of smoke. “I dunno. In the course of other investigations I’ve been to Medford Memorial, Milton General, and Kendall, though that last one was quite a while ago. None of those locations indicated the presence of the military at any point. Just this one.” He picked at his chin. “Something’s afoot. Mass Bay was likely involved in some sort of classified medical research, or a high-level person of interest was a patient at some point. Either way, we need to dig deeper.”

“Soosan, do you remember Nahid ever mentioning a ‘Bonnie’ or a ‘Marcie’?” asked Piper. “This holotape’s the only lead we have at the moment.”

Soosan shook her head. “No, sorry. Then again, I apparently didn’t even know what floor she worked on, much less the names of her coworkers.”

“That’s okay. The radiology department seems promising. Everyone, look around. Any piece of trash or broken object could be important,” said Nick, bending down to inspect a clipboard.

Piper saw a wall safe and zeroed in on it. She fiddled with the lock, swearing and breaking several bobby pins before the small door swung open. “Aha!” she said, wiggling back and forth happily. “A mysterious file. Let’s see what we got.” She sat down at a desk chair, tilting the file for optimal light and scanning it quickly.

“Whatcha got there?” asked Nick slowly, watching her eyes widen. 

“Jesus Christ,” said Piper, clearing the ragged sound out of her throat. She spoke slowly and clearly. “I can’t believe what I’m reading. These are records pertaining to something called Project Bimini. A group of doctors working here received a fancy government grant, ostensibly to improve radiation therapy for cancer patients. But in reality they were working on something more ominous. A guy named Doctor Ari Weissmann figured out that a highly concentrated dose of non-ionizing radiation could mutate cells so wholly that they permanently became immune to ionizing radiation. The test subjects’ appearance was drastically altered, but in theory they’d live forever. The substance was called ‘Extend’.”

Soosan grimaced. “Oh God, cell mutation? Altered appearance? Sounds horrendous.”

Piper continued, “You’re not the only one who thought so. Weissmann believed the researchers were ‘trespassing on God’s domain’, messing with matters beyond their ken. He wanted to shut down Project Bimini, but his colleague Jonas Pozinski fought him. Pozinski went over his head to their Defense Intelligence Agency contact and proposed a radical solution: save people by dosing the water supply with Extend. A municipal body of water would effectively transform from a normal drinking supply into the fountain of youth. Pozinski believed that by making the populace immune to radiation, the United States would no longer be a target for nuclear war.” 

The group was silent for a moment, reeling from the sinister revelation.

Nick read over Piper’s shoulder. “Hey Soosan, take a look at these names on the project: Doctors Ari, Weissmann, Deirdre O’Sullivan, Jonas Pozinski, Holly Cooper, and Nahid Shirdel.”

Soosan rushed over, snatching the file out of Piper’s hands. “Oh my God!” She scanned the page quickly, breathing hard upon seeing her sister’s name. “That’s not, I mean, it can’t be. She told us that she was a trauma doctor. She helped people who got in car accidents and stuff. There’s no way Nahid was involved in some creepy government radiation experiment. She was a good person. These scientists were monsters.”

Piper and Nick exchanged a glance. “Does it seem so farfetched?” asked the journalist delicately. “The fact that there was a project name indicates that this so-called ‘Extend’ was a big deal. A really big deal. If the government funded this radiation research to stave off a nuclear attack, I’m sure they made Nahid get a background check for a certain clearance level, as well as sign all sorts of paperwork ensuring she’d keep quiet. The trauma doc thing was her cover. She probably had to no choice but to lie. If she had let the truth slip, there’s no telling what would have happened to her.”

Soosan squeezed her eyes shut, pulling a hazy memory fragment from the depths. “I remember this one time Nahid dropped Shayan off at my house before work. She set down the diaper bag and I saw this paperwork sticking out the top of it. She acted kind of sneaky when she pulled it out of the bag and stuffed it in her purse. I got a brief glance. I’m fairly certain it said Non-Disclosure Agreement at the top of the paper.” Soosan dropped the file and backed away. Her heart dropped at the realization that another important person in her life had lied about their identity. “That bitch! Goddammit Nahid.”

Nick patted her shoulder kindly. “The G-men don’t mess around. If Nahid didn’t sign that NDA I bet the whole house of cards would have come falling down. This won’t make you feel better, but there is a name in that list of doctors that is even more interesting than your sister’s – Jonas Pozinski.”

“Why’s that?” asked Piper.

He sighed, rubbing his forehead. Nick turned to Soosan. “I gotta go back a ways. Soosan, I never really explained who I am and how I came to be. Earlier with Cait I mentioned that this body is some sort of discarded prototype. Never seen any other synth like myself. There’s the older ones that are dumb as rocks and all metal, then there’s the newer ones that are almost human. I’m somewhere in between. I’m guessing part of the reason I can’t remember much from my time in The Institute is because they fried my brain when they gave me this personality.”

“What do you mean ‘gave you’? How do you give someone a personality? Doesn’t it just develop as time goes on?” asked Soosan.

“Not for me. When I woke up on top of a scrap heap, I was dazed and confused. My brain was telling me without a shadow of a doubt that I was Nick Valentine – the pre-war human one.” 

Soosan made a loud sound of recognition. “Ohhh. I thought the name was just a coincidence. I read about you all the time in the Boston Bugle. You were trying to take down that dick Eddie Winter. But how the hell did The Institute get ahold of your life and download it into a robot body?”

“After Operation Winter’s End was brought to its unceremonious close, I experienced severe psychological distress. You see,” Nick paused, fighting to keep the anger and sorrow out of his voice, “building the case against Winter took a personal toll on me. A few months before the bombs dropped, my fiancée Jennifer was killed. It’s pretty obvious Eddie Winter was involved somehow, but the task force could never prove it. It was a nightmare. The police captain, Jonathan Widmark, recommended I start seeing a shrink at C.I.T. to work through my post-traumatic stress disorder. They scanned my brain. Told me it was a routine part of the psych intake process. I’d bet that’s how The Institute got ahold of my memories and transferred them into this,” he finished, gesturing at his temple and the torn skin on the side of his face.

Piper swiveled in the desk chair, shaking her head. “God, Nick, I’m so sorry. I had no idea. I knew you were a detective before the war, but I never stopped to think how The Institute would actually go about stealing the memories of a pre-war person.”

“Maybe that’s the real reason The Institute sent Cait to ‘protect’ me. They want my memories,” said Soosan bitterly. She picked up the file again, re-reading the names. “Okay, so this guy Jonas Pozinski – what’s his deal? How is a doctor researching radiation connected to Eddie Winter?”

“Eddie was dating this gal Claire. She was the Darla to his Skinny Malone, if you will. Claire’s last name was Pozinski. I’d bet ol’ Jonas here was a relative of hers, a brother or uncle or something. If he was as crooked as Claire, then he wouldn’t have any problem spilling government secrets protected by a Non-Disclosure Agreement. After Operation Winter’s End was shuttered, our criminal informants picked up a lot of strange chatter in the streets about Eddie’s plans. It seems the arrogant bastard was scared of only one thing: the bombs. He wanted to cheat death somehow. He set up a bunker under his sub shop in South Boston. But Eddie didn’t want to be a frozen banana like you Soosan. Oh no. Instead of being cryogenically preserved, he invested a bunch of money in a crazy radiation experiment. I thought all that was bullshit, designed to throw us off the scent of wherever he’d made off to. I see now that our informants were right all along. Eddie Winter must’ve been in cahoots with Pozinski in order to access a dose of Extend and become immortal.”

Soosan’s jaw dropped. “You’re telling me this mobster became a ghoul on purpose?”

Piper nudged her. “Sound like anybody else you know?”

Soosan glanced at Nick and then back at Piper. “No way. No freaking way! This must be it – the same place where Hancock took the drug and became ghoulified.”

Nick shook his head. “John’s a smart guy. I never did understand what possessed him to do that.”

“Oh my God. The puzzle pieces are coming together,” said Soosan. “It’s all connected. Just think about it. The Children of Atom must have somehow heard of Extend. Taking an experimental radiation drug would definitely qualify as a religious experience for nutjobs like them. They send Geneva to find it, but she defects and takes refuge in Diamond City, which at that point had a ghoul population. She meets Hancock and falls for him, and along the way she mentions the drug in conversation. Later on, he’s searching for a greater chemical high. He takes the last dose of Extend located here in Mass Bay, and instead of succumbing to his death wish he becomes a ghoul. Meanwhile his brother is still pissed about Hancock stealing ‘his’ girl. After McDonough becomes mayor he issues an edict banning ghouls from Diamond City.” Soosan looked at Nick. “You’d remember what happened – where did the ghouls go after they were expelled from the city?”

Nick closed his eyes briefly. “Of course. The Slog.”

“What’s that?” asked Soosan.

“It’s an all-ghoul settlement north of the old Ironworks.” He shook his head and grumbled, “Can’t believe it. They were practically living next door to me in D.C. All that time and I coulda had my answers.”

“Nicky, you wanna fill us in? What are you getting at?” asked Piper, fidgeting in her seat.

“When we get to the Slog, those ghouls are going to have a lot of explaining to do. If they are who I think they are, I bet we’re going to find both Soosan’s sister and the key to finding Eddie Winter.”


	59. Narc

“Freakin’ Deacon! What’s happening baby?” asked Tinker Tom, grinning broadly.

In the Railroad’s headquarters, Deacon and Tom performed their ritual handshake, complete with snaps and thumb twiddles. “T-Money! Did you miss me?”

“You know it, friend.” He picked up a small glass vial and held it up to the light. “So check this out – my little concoction is holding steady. It’s equal parts sodium thiopental, hyoscine, and amobarbital. Added a splash of lysergic acid just to bring it all together. I call it ‘Narc’. I like the double meaning,” giggled Tom, his headgear bobbling. 

Deacon took the vial, rolling it between his fingers. “Aww, baby’s first truth serum. Have you administered it yet?”

“Not yet, but that works out just fine. Now that your girl’s here, Dez wants her present for the interrogation.”

Deacon lowered his voice. “I’m not sure if that’s such a good idea. She’s kind of fragile right now. Soosan found out that Hob’s a synth. It was not pretty.”

Tinker Tom shrugged. “Hey man, it’s not my call. I’m just the resident mad scientist. What do I know?”

Deacon chuckled, looking around for Desdemona. He saw the Railroad leader, along with half a dozen other people, standing in a semi-circle around Carrington’s medical corner. He froze in shock. Hob was naked, explaining something while gesturing to various parts of the Cait vesture. Deacon flew over to the group, pushing through Glory and Drummer Boy. “What the hell is going on here? I catch up with Tom for two minutes and suddenly HQ turns into some sort of back alley peep show!” He moved his body in front of her, blocking her from view. 

Hob gave him a casual wave. “Oh hey Deacon. Just showing everyone how the vesture technology works. They seem extremely interested.”

Deacon picked up her shirt and pulled her arm through one of the holes. “Oh yeah, they’re interested all right.” He pulled her other arm through and buttoned up the shirt. “Where are your pants?”

Carrington sighed in irritation and handed Deacon the leather pants that had been tossed over the back of his desk chair. “You’re blowing things out of proportion. Hob was merely showing us the location of the vesture’s seams. We need to familiarize ourselves with The Institute’s latest technological advancements. It’s a matter of operational security.”

“You people are shameless. Nothing but a buncha voyeurs,” muttered Deacon indignantly, crouching in front of Hob and zipping up her pants. She looked over his shoulder at Desdemona, pointing at Deacon and rolling her eyes in an exaggerated manner.

“Deacon,” said Hob, standing still while he stuffed her feet into her boots. “Deacon.” He laced her boots, huffing angrily. “Deacon!” she shouted. 

He stood up, glaring at her. “What?”

“This is a workplace. I need you to exhibit some professionalism, please.”

Glory let out a guffaw, quickly clapping her hand over her mouth. Dez snorted and nudged Drummer Boy. “I like this one.”

Deacon spluttered but couldn’t form words. Hob touched his shoulder. “I know you are attracted to this body,” she said gently, “but it is not mine. I’m not really a redheaded pugilist from the Combat Zone, okay? Underneath, I basically look like an intact Nick Valentine. I need you to remember that. Now if you don’t mind, I would like to discuss my eye problems with Carrington. Alone.” 

The spy turned beet red. He stomped off to the mattress-lined hallway. Glory followed him, giggling like a schoolgirl. “Deacon, come back man!” she pleaded, biting back a laugh and throwing a grin Desdemona’s way.

Hob watched everyone disperse and then politely apologized to Carrington. “Please forgive Deacon for his inappropriate behavior.”

The doctor waved his hand. “It’s not my forgiveness he should be seeking. You’re the one he embarrassed. Though it seems you’ve already figured out how to discipline him. If you can control him in the field then you’ll be performing the impossible.”

“Bah, he’s not so bad,” she smirked, waving a hand. “Anyway, can we get back to the exam? I need your medical advice. Before descending to the crypt, Deacon and I were talking when a searing pain ripped through my head. My eyes stayed open, but instead of seeing what was in front of me, everything went black. It was like watching lightning arc across the sky, if that lightning was made of static. Does that make sense? Have other synths experienced these symptoms?”

Carrington drummed his fingers on his lips. “Most unusual. There is only one synth who has described something similar to this. Magnolia.”

Hob smiled ruefully. “Of course. Perfect Magnolia. The femme fatale courser who took down the Switchboard, short circuited, and turned out to be too empathetic to be a killer.” She saw Carrington staring at her suspiciously, so she added, “We literally just met in Goodneighbor. She told me how Doctor Amari scanned her brain and found way too much oxytocin.”

“I recall. Unfortunately, Amari jealously guards the memory loungers, so I can’t run a similar test on you here. Can you tell me precisely what you and Deacon were speaking about when this lightning pain occurred?”

“He had been watching my fighting style. He said I moved like a courser, which is odd because I never received any formal training, and also because they’re so unemotional. Deacon said that was on purpose. He called coursers ‘murder machines’ and that having a heart would be detrimental to their mission.” Hob winced, clasping her hand to her forehead. “Shit. It’s happening again,” she groaned. “It’s stronger now, though. As the lightning moves, it feels like it’s pulsing across my eyeballs.”

Carrington rummaged through the shelves behind him, pulling out an eye examiner. He switched the light on and held the device in front of Hob’s eyes. When he switched the light off, his eyebrows furrowed. “You said earlier the vesture’s eyes were dark green, yes?” Hob nodded. “Something has definitely changed. They’re a slightly lighter shade of green, at least in the ring closest to the pupils.”

“What the hell? Why is that?”

“I’m not sure. It could be a breakdown of the vesture’s irises, or it could be a problem with your synthetic brain. You have a second-gen frame, correct? Those models have glowing yellow eyes. It could be that the visual cortex – located in your occipital lobe – is struggling to regain control over the information relayed by your retinas. There’s a visual bottleneck of sorts. Has this vesture experienced any injuries? Any blunt force trauma to the head?”

Hob frowned. Bits and pieces of the fight with the deathclaw came back to her. She remembered the strange lurching sensation in her stomach. “Um, yes. I blacked out in Concord. This deathclaw picked me up and then dropped me. I fell quite a ways to the ground. Deacon could probably tell you exactly how long I was knocked out.”

Carrington’s eyes went wide. “Good gracious. That will do it. I believe these lightning shapes in your eyes are aftershocks of that event. But without the stimpak laser that could remove this vesture, I won’t be able to dig any deeper into your brain. Tom!” The scientist bounded over. “Hob’s vesture is fastened and unfastened using a sort of stimpak laser. How long would it take you to fashion a similar device?”

“Couple days or more, depending on how much pain Hob can handle,” shrugged Tinker Tom. “But I gotta finish up with the truth serum first. One task at a time.”

Hob straightened up, looking interested. “Truth serum? For what?”

Tom gestured over his shoulder to the small gun range and testing area near his desk. “For those Institute informants. By the way, did anybody ever thank you for that intel? Because it’s been incredible having them here – so far at least. If you’re finished with Carrington I think Dez is ready for you to have a go at them.”

Hob nervously followed Tom to the gun testing area. Two makeshift cells were wedged into a small alcove. “Oh, uh, good evening gentlemen. I trust you’re being treated well?” she said hesitantly.

A.J. and Henry Cooke scowled up at her from one cell. Marowski spit through the bars of the other cell. “Who’s this floozy?” he growled, his voice gruffer than usual.

“You better rethink your word choice, son,” said Deacon, appearing suddenly behind Hob and Tinker Tom. The spy gave no outward acknowledgement of his temporary temper tantrum. “Her name’s Cait. She’s the leader of the Railroad. And right now, she’s about to go medieval on your ass.”

Hob frowned. “I am?” she whispered. Deacon gave her a look of encouragement. “Oh right, yeah, I am. Please escort Mister Marowski to the, uh, room for…question asking.”

“Yes ma’am,” said Deacon, nodding curtly. He unlocked the cell and led the handcuffed Marowski to PAM’s room. Hob helped tie him to the desk chair while Deacon held his head back, pulling apart his eyelids.

Tom approached, vibrating with excitement. “Let’s start with two drops of Narc in each eye.” He removed the dropper from the glass vial. His hands shook as he administered the truth serum. “Go on little liquid. Do your thing.” Marowski whined as his eyes burned and became bloodshot.

Deacon turned to whisper in Hob’s ear, but was interrupted.

“Performing further interrogations?” asked a mechanical female voice. Hob jumped in fright. An unusual Assaultron stood next to her, surveying the scene before them. “With more data, I can revise my algorithms and calculate events with a higher probability of success.”

“You sure can, babe,” said Deacon, winking at PAM. “But for now, it’s Hob’s turn to speak, m’kay?”

“Query: will Rogue Variable Hob be a permanent member of the organization Railroad?”

“I think that depends on how she handles this situation right now,” replied Deacon.

“Caution. Biological life forms behave erratically. Unpredictably. All output subject to an extremely high margin of error.”

“Oh, I’m not a human. I’m a synth,” said Hob, unsure of the appropriate part of PAM’s face for making eye contact. “A new fourth-gen, if that has an effect on your calculations.”

PAM tilted her head to the side, thinking. “The margin of error of all former predictions are on average 3.5 times more accurate than any current or future model predicting the behavior of Rogue Variable Hob.”

“Okay, okay, shush,” said Deacon, dismissively waving his hand at PAM and pushing Hob forward by the small of her back.

Hob walked up to Marowski, unsure of where to start. She didn’t know what information Deacon and Desdemona had already gleaned, and she wondered how PAM played a role in all this. Hob figured this might be an initiation test, some sort of hazing ritual for new members of the Railroad. She straightened up, putting her hands behind her back and imitating Deacon’s Sherlock Holmes posture before he threw a frag mine at Dixie in the Pickman Gallery. “Hello, Marowski. We meet again,” she said truthfully. 

He grumbled in confusion, slurring his words. “Agaaain?” His head bobbled as the truth serum took effect.

“That’s correct. We met once before, in your office in the Hotel Rexford, though at the time I looked like a ghoul. You passed along a message for me. I know I look different, but you can be assured, I’m the same Institute synth I’ve always been. Do you recall the topic of conversation when I met you late that evening?” Marowski groaned in assent. “Come now, words please,” chided Hob.

“Sanctuary,” mumbled Marowski.

Hob stood behind him, giving Deacon a thumbs-up to show that he was telling the truth. “You wrote my message on a scrap of paper. Can you tell me how you passed that message along to The Institute?”

Marowski squinted one eye, struggling to keep his head up. “Sent Stan to the top of the Rexford. Behind the carved face on the outside of the building, we keep flags with different patterns. Circle means outgoing message, square is awaiting further instructions, an X means trouble, that sort of thing. The crows see the flag, somehow get the pattern to The Institute, and within seconds a courser appears on the top of the hotel. They give or receive the message, and poof! Gone again.”

Hob frowned. If the truth serum was indeed working, Marowski didn’t know specifics about the molecular relay. She pushed a little more. “‘Poof’? You expect us to believe the coursers can appear and disappear instantaneously, as if by magic?”

“I dunno how they do it. Stan puts a flag up, turns around, and all of a sudden a courser is there. They disappear in a flash of blue light. Blink and you’ll miss it.”

Hob looked to Deacon, who was mumbling something to Tinker Tom. They motioned for her to continue. She took a deep breath, ready to push into new territory. “When did you become an informant for The Institute?”

“Twenty years ago.”

“What happened twenty years ago?”

“Some no-good phonies pulled off a heist. They targeted my chem lab on the roof of the Four Leaf Fishpacking Plant. The thieves made away with everything, not only the chems but all my equipment too. I had nothing. I needed money to start over, so my boss Eddie Winter suggested that I become an Institute informant. The pay was meager at first. As they learned that they could trust me, I got bigger paydays. Now I receive advanced chem recipes. They’re worth a lot with a guy like Fred Allen around. That moron never asks for enough caps.”

Deacon’s eyebrows had shot up. “Marowski, do my ears deceive me? Are you saying you work for the pre-war Irish mafia don Eddie Winter? He’s still alive? Where is he now?” 

“Yeah, he’s alive and kicking, rocking the ghoul skin. Got a bunker in Southie. It’s underground, connected to a Joe’s Spuckies sandwich shop. It’s pretty easy to get to from Goodneighbor. I go south past Mass Bay Medical Center, cross the bridge, and boom, the shop’s right there by Andrew Station and the South Boston PD.”

Hob saw the excitement on Deacon’s face. She didn’t quite grasp the significance of this Eddie Winter character, so she tried to re-focus the line of questioning. “How did your boss know that someone could get paid for being an informant? Does this Eddie Winter also provide intel to The Institute?”

Marowski’s head slumped. “I don’t know nothing,” he rasped defiantly, struggling to breathe.

Tinker Tom rushed forward, checking Marowski’s blood pressure. It was dangerously low. “Oh shit, oh no.” He ran out of the room, knocking into Glory and Desdemona, who were lurking outside the doorway, eavesdropping. Tom fumbled through the drawers of his desk, gave up, and rummaged through Carrington’s shelves. He grabbed a syringe, sprinted back to Marowski, and injected him with Psycho. “Come on baby! Wakey wakey.” Tom pulled down Marowski’s eyelids and gasped. Blood had pooled in his corneas.

“Tom, what’s happening?” asked Desdemona urgently, abandoning all pretense and barging into the room. 

Tinker Tom let go of Marowski’s head. It hung limply to the side, his tongue lolling from his mouth. “He’s dead. Shit! Must’ve added too much amobarbital to the mixture.”

Deacon winced. “Sorry man. Guess that truth serum needs an overhaul.”

Dez looked around at the group. “That’s a shame. From what I was hearing, Marowski’s intel sounded promising. Hob, what do you make of his assertions?”

She began slowly, “Well, the flag system makes sense. In the Synth Retention Bureau, there’s a wall of television screens. The video they display from the crows is in black and white, so it would pick up shapes on the flags quite clearly. Did you manage to capture that Stan guy as well? He could probably tell you more.”

Deacon shook his head. “No actually. He escaped right away, which means he’s probably got a safehouse nearby. Hell, it might even be in Goodneighbor itself.” He chuckled, “Oh man. Hancock’s gonna be piiiiissed. Hey Glory, why don’t you head over there now? Fahrenheit will know who’s been acting suspicious lately, perhaps because they’re housing a wanted man. You and she can work together – very closely together – and find Stan. He has experience with coursers that doesn’t end in death. That’s a goddamn wasteland miracle. I want to interrogate his ass next.” 

Glory blushed at the thought of talking to Fahrenheit. “You got it, Not-the-Boss. I’ll leave immediately.” She gave Deacon a covert smile and left PAM’s room.

Tinker Tom turned to Hob, narrowing his eyes. “Do you know what Marowski meant by ‘disappearing in a flash of blue light’? 

“Yes, it’s – ” Hob swallowed, feeling a squeezing pressure around her throat. “I can’t,” she wheezed, pointing at her neck, “it’s difficult to say.”

Dez, Deacon, and Tom moved closer to her, waiting with baited breath. Deacon handed her a piece of paper and a pen. “Rather than speak, could you write it down?” he asked, aiming for gentle concern rather than the overzealous interest that was surging through him. 

She took the pen, gripping it oddly between her fingers. Hob realized that she’d never actually written anything before. In shaky handwriting, she spelled out R-E-L-A-Y on the paper. She dropped the pen as if it burned her. Hob let out a huge exhale. “Oh God, don’t make me do that again. It must be some kind of failsafe they built into me.” She rubbed her throat, realizing that men like Alan Binet and Clayton Holdren had already planned for the possibility of synth going rogue. Probably on Father’s orders. Hob wondered what else was secretly embedded within her, either physically or encoded in her programming.

Tom pursed his lips, reading the paper. “The existence of a relay complicates things. We have eyes on the ground, but not on the skies.” He snapped his fingers. “But you’re in luck! I’ve already been working on my latest invention – I call her MILA. Stands for Modified Information Learning Apparatus. It’s a surveillance device equipped with atmospheric sensors. I’ve suspected for a while that The Institute is trying to terraform the Commonwealth, and I wanted to catch them in the act. But we can also use MILA to spy on rooftops, see if we can’t catch any coursers in the act. Then PAM can analyze the data to determine any patterns, common insertion points, et cetera.”

“Excellent work, Tom, as always,” said Desdemona, patting him on the back. “We’ll get some agents to start placing MILAs at strategic vantage points. The Boston Bugle building would give us a decent view into Goodneighbor, though Mass Fusion would be optimal.”

“What about the places Marowski mentioned – Mass Bay Medical Center and the Four Leaf Fishpacking Plant?” added Deacon. “Their rooftops offer fairly clear sight lines. A couple MILAs there and we might be able to track the comings and goings of other Triggermen. I bet some of them are Institute informants as well, acting at the behest of Eddie Winter.”

Hob interjected, “How did you know the name ‘Eddie Winter’? It seemed to have special meaning for you even though he’s a pre-war person.”

“The aforementioned Boston Bugle building, sweet cheeks. The terminals still have records of the newspaper articles that came out before the bombs dropped. The Eddie Winter case was huge here in Boston. They even had to import a fancy detective straight from Chicago to work the operation. But I don’t need to tell you this. You’ve already met the guy.” He nudged her arm.

She scowled at him, familiar impatience growing within her. “Why do I always feel stupid around you, Deacon? No suspense or theatrics – tell me the answer.”

He laughed off the deflated balloon feeling in his chest. “Your best girl just left with him: the one and only Nick Valentine.”

Hob furrowed her brow. “Are you saying second-gen synths have been around for over 200 years?”

Deacon shook his head. “What? No. Although…no, I don’t think so. Nick was probably made a century ago, but he’s unique. He woke up with a prepackaged personality, believing himself to be the actual detective Nick Valentine. No one at the Railroad had ever seen anything like him. We think he was an unsuccessful third-gen prototype. Somehow The Institute implanted the real Nick’s memories in his brain. When he finds out Eddie Winter is still alive, running the Triggermen crime syndicate from an underground bunker and encouraging his crew to be Institute informants, Valentine is absolutely gonna lose his shit.”

“So we should go find him, then?” asked Hob, hoping that this information would be enough to get her back in Soosan’s good graces.

“Sorry darling. Duty calls. We gotta run a mission for PAM, remember?”

“But – ”

“No buts,” interrupted Desdemona. “Deacon’s right. PAM’s need for data takes priority.”

“Query: Railroad-Alpha, will Rogue Variable Hob be accompanying Deacon on the next mission?” asked PAM.

“I think she’s earned our trust,” said Dez, smiling. “I’ll leave you guys to it. I don’t wanna know what you’re doing until you come back alive.” She and Tom left the room.

PAM turned her head toward Hob. “Rogue Variable, no current or previous models predict your presence or existence. Reliance on this unit’s predictions is deemed unwise.”

“Okay,” said Hob slowly. “Good to know.”

“Query: what is your point of origin?”

“The…Institute?” answered Hob. “Given that I’m a synth I would think that was obvious.”

“I do not make assumptions. Verbal confirmation required for successful data entry.” PAM paused, determining the top priority mission to assign based on Marowski’s intel. “Agent Deacon and Rogue Variable Hob, your mission is to return to Defense Intelligence Agency black site, alias: Switchboard. Your objective is to locate DIA terminals and files. Gather any information pertaining to Operation Winter’s End, Edward James Winter, Nicholas Valentine, and Cambridge Institute of Technology. Supplementary information to be gathered at Agent Deacon’s discretion. Download records onto this holotape.” PAM extended the tape but maintained her grip on it. “Caution. The Switchboard is a nexus of Institute activity. Odds of detection increase exponentially with proximity to the nexus.” 

Deacon took the tape from the robot. “You got it, PAM-a-lama-ding-dong. While we’re over there do you want us to pick you up some coffee or donuts from Slocum’s Joe? Gotta keep that mechanical body of yours fueled up and ready to rock and roll,” said Deacon, poking PAM’s shoulder.

“Error. Pausing human-machine interface.”

“Oh, I think he’s making a joke, PAM. A really dumb joke.” Hob elbowed Deacon in the ribs.

“Processes reaching maximum capacity. Conversation terminated pending construction of new probability matrix. Rephrasing. Goodbye.” PAM’s eye holes flickered and went dark.

Hob gaped at the robot. “Oh my God. Deacon! You annoyed her to death!”

He grinned as he exited the room. “Nah, that’s just how PAM does.” Deacon searched through a crate sitting inside a stone sarcophagus. He picked up various shirts and pants, finally settling on a bland white button-up and tan slacks. “Tinker Tom programmed her to shut down while she’s doing her titular ‘predictive analytic machine’ thing.”

Hob frowned while watching Deacon change his outfit. “And you guys are sure you can trust her?”

“Nope.”


End file.
